


But it's so hard, my love, to say it to you out loud

by Unicornsandrainbows



Series: Geraskier Pole Dance AU [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Gay Geralt of Rivia, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Jaskier owns a (pole-)dance studio, Kinda, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Poledance AU, Slow Burn, because this is about finding a sense of belonging by hanging out with fellow gays, depending on where you are lmao drinking laws in the US are so wild to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicornsandrainbows/pseuds/Unicornsandrainbows
Summary: Jaskier can't believe that Yennefer hasn't introduced him to Geralt earlier. The man looks like some greek god. That is, until he makes an attempt at pole dancing and reveals that he posseses all the grace of a hippo.Geralt just wants some friends and a new hobby after his old gym buddies turned out to be worse than expected. If that means following his ex-girlfriend into a pole dance studio, so be it, he's desperate. It's hard to focus on sticking to a metal pole when your trainer is so fucking cute, though.or: the pole dance au absolutely no one asked for, in which Jaskier is the gay twink who goes clubbing half naked and has been out since forever while Geralt is a hopeless baby gay.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Geraskier Pole Dance AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767730
Comments: 239
Kudos: 853





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my way of coping with the fact that the studio I dance at has been closed for two months now. I am not okay and also horribly out of shape.
> 
> This first chapter is Geralt's PoV but after this I'll probably stick with Jaskier's PoV simply because I find him easier to write.
> 
> Lastly, TW for Homophobia in this first chapter. I avoided using any slurs, no need to reproduce that, but it's still a thing that happens in the first part of this chapter.

“Oh my god, have you heard? That weird red head who’s been going every Tuesday and Friday is gay”, David is leaning towards him and hushes his voice slightly, as if he’s trying to keep their conversation private, when really, they know everyone in this locker room and everyone is definitely going to listen when you start with ‘have you heard?’.

Geralt feels his stomach sinking. The way David talks about this leaves little doubt about his intentions of sharing this with Geralt, but for now he decides to play dumb.

“Since when do you care about that type of gossip?”, he asks, trying to give David the chance to think about what he just said. Maybe this was just the rumour mill doing its job. Maybe David didn’t mean it in a homophobic way. Maybe this will be okay.

“Since when do I… What? Geralt, he’s seen all of us essentially naked before. In the showers, or spotting while we lift, or literally anything else…”, David trails off, disgust apparent on his face. Geralt swallows, hard. If he doesn’t want to out himself, he’ll have to be careful.

“You can’t even attract a girlfriend, I doubt anyone would be desperate enough to ogle you”, he says, hoping that being mean enough will get David to change the topic. It doesn’t. Instead, one of the other guys joins their conversation.

“Yeah, well, what about the rest of us? I can’t stop thinking about how many times I was naked in the showers with him.”

“Ugh, gross. What if he thinks about one of us while he’s jerking off when he gets home?”

Geralt wants to say a million things. About how the man in question probably has manners and doesn’t ogle strangers. About how most of these guys have admitted to jerking off to the thought of the brunette Zumba instructor at one point. About how they’re being dicks for no actual reason, because they’ve been sharing the shower and locker room with that red head for years, and no one was bothered by his presence so far, and the only thing that changed is their perception of him. About how he, himself, is gay, and they never noticed, because he respects the bodily autonomy of the people around him, like any other normal fucking person.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just gets dressed in record time and leaves, the others still talking about how disgusting the whole thing is. On his way out, he stops at the reception to cancel his gym membership. He knows, now, that he’s not welcome here, and even if he never comes out, how could he possibly feel comfortable at this place ever again?

\---

Geralt is sitting in his tiny one-bedroom apartment and sips his protein shake as if it was some fine whiskey. He’s feeling miserable, and he knows that it’s because he hasn’t been able to go to the gym for a whole week and hasn’t seen another human person besides the kids he trains at Vesemir’s martial arts studio and his colleagues at his boring part-time office job.

The problem is this: Geralt is gay. He knows this. In fact, he's known for years that he's attracted to men and men only, but for some reason he spent most of his teenage years in denial and then most of his twenties pretending that the reason he doesn't have a girlfriend is that he's busy with work and going to the gym every day.

So maybe, the problem isn’t really that he’s gay, but that he’s the only one who knows about it.

It's not exactly that he's ashamed to be gay. It's more that he missed his chance to come out to his family at an appropriate age, and now he doesn't know how to address the issue after 32 years. And, well, the rest of his friends are his gym buddies, who have just proven to be absolutely untrustworthy with that sort of thing. 

He doesn't miss these guys in particular, not really, but he does miss spending hours together with like-minded people every night. He misses the sense of community. He knows that he could just sign up for another gym, but with all the toxic masculinity in the way all gyms seem to advertise themselves, he doesn't dare to hope that it would actually be any better than his last one.

Which means that a) he needs a new hobby, b) he needs to find a new place where he belongs and gets to socialize and c) maybe it's time to come out to his family after all. 

The incident at the gym has left him with a nagging desire to be known and accepted. He wants someone to know that he’s gay and to tell him that that’s okay and they still love him. He's 90% positive that his family will be supportive - Vesemir doesn't care about his adopted children's personal life too much as long as they're happy, Eskel has enough friends that some of them happen to be gay, his younger brother Lambert doesn’t discriminate and is simply an asshole to everyone about everything, and Ciri, well, he's pretty sure that her girl friend in junior year was actually her girlfriend, as in they were dating, and not just a girl who was also her friend (which was what both Vesemir and their brothers had apparently thought. Heteronormativity sure was one hell of a drug). It took him a while to figure it out, and though neither of them addressed it that directly, he spent hours watching terrible splatter movies and eating ice cream with her when they had a 'falling out'. It was most definitely a breakup.

He sighs. They have their weekly family dinner tomorrow night, and maybe that's not enough time to prepare mentally, but he's had 32 years and if he's not ready now he doubts he'll ever be.

\---

Lambert has a girlfriend. Which is great news, and all that his family can talk about over dinner, because it's exciting and everyone wants to know all about her. Geralt is happy for his brother, he really is, but the timing is awful.

He's kind of bursting with the need to tell them, after barely sleeping all night because all he could think about was how to start that sort of conversation. He's always been bad with words, and he knows it, and usually that's fine, he built himself a life that doesn't rely on great conversational skills. But for this? It's terrible.

He can feel Lambert looking at him, obviously noticing that Geralt isn't asking about his girlfriend because he's distracted.

"Geralt, you wound me. What could possibly distract you from your younger brother's incredibly romantic love story? Are you thinking about your own girlfriend?"

It's irritating, and Geralt wants him to shut up, and he hates that Lambert assumes that he has a - or will ever will have another - girlfriend. He's stressed about coming out, and some irrational part of him is terrified that they'll all hate him for keeping this to himself for so long, and Lambert keeps going on about how he never brings back a girlfriend, and god he can't take this anymore.

"I'm gay", he blurts out. All conversation comes to a stop, everyone is stating at him, it's terrible.

Well, everyone except Ciri, who's still chewing her pasta when she points her now empty fork at him. 

"Good for you", she says, and immediately proceeds to shovel another forkful of food into her mouth. 

It breaks the awkward silence, and suddenly everyone has something to say. Lambert is obviously torn between being an adult and showing his support and making as many jokes at his expense as he can. Vesemir has his son-i-am-so-proud-of-you smile on his face while trying to tell him that he's so glad that he told them. Eskel is trying his very best to be a sensible person and wait until the others are done talking.

It's overwhelming, but at least it's out. Once everyone calms down about it, this will be a freeing thing.

\---

Being out to his family is nice, but it doesn't magically solve his lack of social contacts or hobbies. Sure, he's picked up some more of Vesemir's classes, but teaching small kids how to do various martial arts a few times a week isn't exactly an opportunity to make friends. The kids are sweet, but he could literally be their father.

He's also pretty sure that some of the parents would take their kids and run if they knew he was into men. He sighs, maybe he needs a community that is essentially made for him. There's only one problem: Where do gay people meet? He knows a few clubs, alright, but going clubbing isn't really his thing. It's also not a place you go to regularly, or where you make friends. 

He tries the internet. Google tells him about a weekly meeting for gay alcoholics and one for HIV positive men. Both are important resources, he muses, but not for him. Then there's grindr. He's not sure what to make of that but gives it a try.

It's overwhelming. Everyone is so openly sexual, and he doesn't want to slut shame these people, but it's not what he's looking for, at all. Someone messages him and asks if he's up for a threesome. Someone else compliments his muscles by saying something about how most gay men try to be women these days, and Geralt may have spent most of his life in the closet, but that sounds like there's a lot of misogyny and homophobic stereotypes to unpack. He decides not to unpack anything and deletes his account again.

This leaves him with two options: a) asking Ciri if she's gay and knows something. It has the issue that Ciri isn't out and he doesn't want to push things and the other issue that Ciri is 16 and wherever she spends her time, he hopes that it's not places meant for men in their thirties. Option b) is the only other queer person in his life, who happens to be his ex-girlfriend. They're still friends, sort of, he guesses. It can't be worse than the advice Google had for him.

So he calls her. It's her mailbox, but he leaves her a message.

"Uh, hi Yennefer. It's Geralt. Haven't heard from you in a while, wanted to check on you. Also I have a favour to ask? Please call me back when you have a minute."

His phone rings maybe twenty minutes later, and when he answers the call it's her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing two chapters in one day and then being so impatient that i just upload them both in one day, too? it's more likely than you think.

Jaskier is finally alone in the studio; the last class just left, which means that he has about an hour to train on his own before one of the classes he doesn’t teach himself start and he has to leave and get ready for his grindr date.

He’s already more than warm, teaching three classes back to back has taken care of that, even if two of them were beginners, so he just turns on his music for the choreography he’s working on on repeat and gets to work.

He’s made it through the song twice, stopping to write little things into his notebook when he figures out how to connect something so he won’t forget it until tomorrow, when his music is suddenly replaced by “Toxic”, aka his ring tone, and he almost falls from the pole at the sudden change. By the time he’s turned off Bluetooth and can safely answer the phone, he has maybe half a second to hit the button before his mailbox will answer for him, so he doesn’t bother to check who dares to disrupt him.

“Uh, fuck, I mean, hi, Jaskier here”, he greets, which is unprofessional as hell, but if he’s lucky, it’s not business related.

He’s lucky in the sense that it’s not one of his students, or wanna be students or one of the hired trainers. It’s Yennefer, though, which might actually be worse, because even though he loves her dearly, she can be a menace.

“Jaskier, my dearest, my sweetheart, love of my life-“

“Oh no. No, no, no. Whatever it is, no.”, he interrupts, because he knows that tone. Yennefer needs a favour. He also knows that she’ll get it, because he loves her, but he can at least put up a little fight first.

“I was just going to invite you to get ice cream with my lovely girlfriend and I, and maybe someone else, come on Jaskier, pretty please?”

Oh, so now she’s trying to buy him with the promise of ice cream. It’s working, even though he still doesn’t know what she actually wants from him. He can still bargain a little, though, because whatever it is that Yennefer wants from him probably deserves more than a little ice cream.

“Is it the nice artisan place down the street? Because if not I’m not interested.”

“It is now. Great, thank you so much, we’ll pick you up from the studio in Twenty minutes!”

“WAIT! Don’t you dare hang up on me like this! I have a date in an hour, Yennefer, you can’t do this to me, he’s hot and he wants me to top him and he has a picture of himself in a leather harness that looks like armor on his profile and I need to fuck him, Yennefer, what about tomo-“ Yennefer hangs up on him.

Jaskier sighs. He should just finish his practice, ignore her ringing the bell, wait until she leaves and then go to his date. He really should. Yennefer needs to learn that she can’t just cockblock him with last minute ice cream dates without even telling him why she needs him desperately enough to buy him the fancy, expensive ice cream instead of a McDonald’s milkshake. 

But Yennefer is one of his best friends, so he just sighs and accepts his fate. While stretching, he texts his date some excuse about being sick and asks to reschedule. Then, he jumps under the shower, because no matter what they’re doing afterwards, he can’t go get ice cream like this.

He just barely manages to put on his clothes before the doorbell rings. He presses the buzzer without even checking if it’s actually Yen, grabs his stuff and locks the studio door behind himself.

Yennefer hasn’t bothered coming upstairs to get him. Instead, she’s waiting in the parking lot behind the building, leaning against Triss’ car. She’s wearing sunglasses and a thin black summer dress even though it’s cloudy and rather chilly for late a late spring day, because obviously, her outfit ideas are more important than being sensibly dressed for the weather. It’s one of the few things Jaskier and her can agree on.

“Are we walking or do you just hope to magically find a spot to park your car in front of the shop even though it’s literally just five minutes by foot?”

He asks, because Triss is still in the car, and really, do they hate nature so much? Do they just not care about climate change? Yennefer rolls her eyes at him but opens the door for Triss. 

“Glad you could make time for us. Walking is great, gives us a chance to fill you in on the details.”

Jaskier snorts. “May I remind you that you haven’t given me even the outline yet? I feel like I made some sort of deal with a crazy witch to pay for some fucking strawberry-rhubarb gelato with whipped cream and sprinkles.”

“Yennefer’s ex-boyfriend just came out to her via phone call because she’s the only queer person he knows. The man is 32 and has never said anything to anyone until last week, and apparently lost all his jock friends in the process”, Triss informs him.

“Istredd is gAY?”, Jaskier manages to get out, because he has not seen that coming. Oh, this is hilarious.

Triss decides that this is a good moment to start walking while he’s too shocked to do much. She’s going the wrong way, though, so Jaskier grabs her arm and gently pulls her in the opposite direction.

“What do you want me to do? Scare him out of the community by being the impersonation of the annoying, flamboyant gay? Seduce him and break his heart as revenge?”, Jaskier adds once they’re on the right path, because while this is wild news, he doesn’t understand why Yennefer couldn’t just tell him that via phone so they could have a good laugh about it.

“Actually, it’s my other ex-boyfriend. The martial arts guy, remember? Geralt? I think I mostly talked about his adoptive sister because she gave me baby queer vibes, but apparently the reason I never felt romantically loved by him is his lack of interest in women”, Yen says.

“Oh. Okay, makes sense. Still, what do you want me to do about it?”, Jaskier hates to repeat himself, but this doesn’t really make any sense to him. He remembers the things Yennefer has said about Geralt, mostly that he’s a nice guy who spends too much time at the gym and helping out his adoptive dad with some martial arts classes while also working a regular desk job, and the feeling that neither him nor her were ever really emotionally invested in their relationship.

“We’re meeting him, of course. The guy probably needs some serious help figuring himself out after living closeted for so long. Also a new hobby, and a place to work out.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow in the least impressed way he can manage.

“So you thought, ‘Oh, Jaskier can give him all of that in one person, it’s gonna be great, what could possibly go wrong, Jaskier is amazing with the baby gays, and not at all possibly a little bit too much to cope with when you’re new to all of this, and also pole dance is a great replacement for building a shit ton of useless muscle mass at the gym every night. They’re a match made in heaven’? This is a terrible idea. I want at least one extra ice cream date or else I’ll turn around and go to my grindr date, dude still hasn’t read my message cancelling our plans.”

“Okay. One more ice cream date, but if today doesn’t end in disaster, it’ll be with him, not me.”, Yennefer bargains. Tough conditions, but free ice cream.

“Okay, fine. But only if he’s cute.”, he finally relents.

Triss and Yennefer roll their eyes in unison. It should be creepy, but it’s mostly adorable.

“My girlfriend has an impeccable taste, I’m sure Geralt is a snack.”, Triss says, and he knows she wants to be teasing, only that Triss doesn’t have a single mean bone in her body and it comes out all earnest and sweet.

Yennefer chimes in. “Exactly. As proven by the fact that I never tried to date you.”

“You fucked Istredd.”, Jaskier reminds her.

“A minor hiccup. And he did look great, though his morals were… lacking”, she waves it away, grinning at him. Because why wouldn’t she be grinning, she just got Jaskier to do exactly what she wants him to do once more. 

Jaskier still has a bad feeling about the whole deal. Sure, he’s involved in the local community. He knows a lot of people who could probably help Geralt figure out whatever he needs to figure out. But he’s also a busy man trying to prepare for this years competitions while maintaining an active sex life. Adopting a charity project doesn’t exactly fit into his schedule.

They turn the corner. For most people, it’s too late to go out for ice cream, so the tables in front of the café are all empty except for one. Jaskier stops dead in his track, because Jesus Christ, that’s a mountain of a man. The guy sits in a chair that looks way, way too small for him, a menu in his massive hands. His hair is white, and, right now, loosely tied back and he’s dressed in a black t-shirt that clings to his body, showing off every single muscle. Jaskier just knows that this man could snap him in half. He would kill to top this guy, just imagining the power rush he would get from that gives him goosebumps. 

Jaskier leans closer to Yennefer. “Is that him?”, he asks, because really, if that’s the guy, a warning would’ve been nice. Something like ‘he looks like a Greek god, try not to faint when you see him’. Yennefer just nods at him. Jaskier licks his lips. Then he remembers that not only is this man Yennefer’s ex, but also probably very overwhelmed with his life right now. Trying to seduce him, tempting as it may be, would be borderline predatory. Flirting a little, though… it’s not unthinkable.

“Fuck. Can I flirt with him? Would that be rude, considering he’s your ex and all that?”

Yen snorts. “Knock yourself out. Just keep in mind that all of this is new for him. Be nice, try not to be too crude.”

Jaskier nods, a bit dazed. Then Geralt looks up from the menu and spots them. He shoots a small, insecure smile to Yennefer and waves. Yennefer pushes Triss and him slightly to make them walk the last few meters. Jaskier sits down between Geralt and Yennefer and prays that they don’t have some weird, awkward leftover tensions from their breakup. 

As it turns out, they don’t. it’s a quite nice afternoon, actually, once Jaskier gets over how hot Yennefer’s ex is and can look at the poor man’s face without ogling. Geralt is obviously the odd one out among them, though; he’s new to their group dynamic, but they try their hardest not to exclude him. Triss is especially good at involving him in their conversation without making him uncomfortable, which lessens the awkwardness of the whole thing a lot. Yennefer, and therefore by extension, Triss, is one of Jaskier’s closest friends, and they joke back and forth effortlessly, carefully treading the line of between rude and malicious with their endless teasing. Jaskier knows, without a doubt, that he’d take a bullet for Yen. He also knows that if he ever got the chance to hit her in the head with a chair and not face any consequences, he’d do it without hesitation. That’s just how they roll. 

Which is why, when Yennefer cheerfully invites Geralt to come to one of his pole dance lessons one of these days, Jaskier only chokes on his gelato a little bit. Triss, god bless her soul, reacts immediately by acting as if he just choked on his food in a manner that is totally not related to anything Yennefer says, and pats his back.

“Y-yeah, you should totally come”, he agrees after Triss hits him on his back uncomfortably hard, an obvious reminder for him to work on his manners. His brain, unhelpfully, promptly provides him with a visual of Geralt in just his boxer briefs, slightly sweaty from dancing. It doesn’t help that Geralt looks both nervous and excited about this. This is the worst. He can’t think about one of his maybe future students like this. 

“I mean. Uh. If that’s alright? I don’t want to invade anyone’s space, you know, and from what Yen told me, it’s mostly women who go to her classes, and I’ve never danced before.”, Geralt all but stutters.

Oh no. Beefy and slightly dumb, what a dreamy combination. Jaskier suppresses a laugh. 

“You won’t join Yennefer’s class for quite a while, babe. She’s in an advanced class. You? You’re starting with a pole fit beginner’s class, especially if you haven’t done any dancing yet. Maybe one of the ‘fit and flexi’ classes, or a basic contemporary dance course to supplement what you certainly lack in dance skills.”

Geralt grunts, clearly unhappy with that assessment. Jaskier can practically see his thought process on his face, something along the lines of ‘but it’s just dancing that every stripper can do how hard can it be I’m 90% muscle I got this all figured out’, and suddenly, this becomes a challenge. He wants Geralt to know that what he does is a tough exercise, thank you very much.

“Do you still have the Thursday night class?”, Yennefer asks, and Jaskier nods, because he does.

“Great. It’s a date, Geralt. Bring short shorts, and a towel, and I, your very best ex-girlfriend, will take care of everything else!”

The smile on Yennefer’s face tells Jaskier that this was the plan all along. She didn’t want them to meet for ice cream a few times and talk about where Geralt can go to find other gay gym bros, because those do exist, she wanted Geralt to go to Jaskier’s classes specifically. He can’t figure out why for the life of him, but it’s happening.

“You better pay for his classes, Yen. Spending a few dollars on food for me does not pay rent for the studio.”

Geralt shifts, uncomfortable. “I can pay for my own classes.”, he grumbles.

Jaskier smirks. “Wise choice. Being indebted to Yennefer is terrible.”

Geralt smirks at that. “The worst.”, he agrees, and Jaskier thinks they might get along, maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who took the time to comment on this fic! I love you all! I'll try to reply to at least the longer comments, but to be honest, I'm not used to getting that amount of comments on my work and I'm a bit overwhelmed.
> 
> If this chapter seems a bit awkward and less fun than the last one, I'm sorry. It's because there's no way in hell that Geralt and Jaskier wouldn't be a bit awkward in this situation.

Geralt is nervous. So much so that he seriously considers to tell Yennefer that he’s sick when Thursday comes around, because, really, what is he supposed to do in a group of strangers who all have a vague idea what they’re doing or at the very least actively chose to try pole dance and weren’t tricked into it by their ex. 

Though, he has to admit, Yennefer dragging him out for ice cream within an hour after he called her and introducing him to her best friend was rather nice of her. He’s had fun, even though he was keenly aware that he wasn’t quite part of their group, not yet, anyway.

There’s also the fact that her best friend happens to be stunningly beautiful. Geralt hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Jaskier all week. There’s the physical aspect of his attractiveness, sure, his intense blue eyes and the brown hair that looks so fucking soft even when it’s still damp and his slim but fit body. What really made him stand out to Geralt, though, was his attitude. Jaskier just existed so unapologetically and loudly that he couldn’t help but admire it. It’s as if Jaskier just doesn’t worry about how other people perceive him. Geralt would envy him, probably, if Jaskier hadn’t charmed him already.

Which only makes him more nervous about tonight, because what if he’ll embarrass himself in front of the man? Not that he thinks it’s very likely that he’s going to be absolutely terrible at this, he’s rather fit, and, thanks to Vesemir, flexible, but what if?

His doorbell rings and he knows it’s too late, Yennefer is here to pick him up, a whole two hours before the class is supposed to start for some reason. He sighs, stops pacing the short length of his apartment and opens the door for her.

She has a terribly predatory grin on her face when she enters. “Geralt, have you been pacing? So nervous already? Aww, don’t worry, Jaskier won’t let you hurt yourself.”

Geralt only hums in reply, because that’s not what he’s worried about, at all, but he doesn’t really know what he’s actually worried about, so what is he supposed to say?

“Alright, I see, still as wordy as ever. Come on, I left work early for this, show me your shortest shorts and I’ll make sure that your hair will stay out of the way while also looking nice”, she says, pushing her way past him and walking towards his dresser as if she owns this place.

“You’re not going to braid my hair, Yen.”, he grumbles, because there’s no way in hell that he’ll let her drag her black acrylic nails through his hair when he’s perfectly capable of tying it up in a bun himself.

“You’re going to let me do whatever the hell I want because without me you’d be spending tonight alone in your room. Also because it’s going to impress Jaskier if you look nice. You want to look nice for him, don’t you?”

Her sweet, innocent smile tells him everything he needs to know: she’s absolutely aware of his infatuation with her best friend, and she’s actively encouraging it. As if he’ll ever have a chance with someone as beautiful and confident as Jaskier. He’s also pretty sure that he’s significantly older than Jaskier.

He sighs and gives up. If Yennefer wants to braid his hair, fine. He’ll survive. 

“Fine. But I don’t think anything I could do would ever impress Jaskier.”

Yennefer looks as if she wants to disagree, but then she just shrugs and starts digging through his dresser.

“It’s worth a try, though, isn’t it? What drawer is for shorts – never mind, found it. Ugh, Geralt, please tell me you have something shorter than knee length”

“You don’t really need booty shorts for lifting. Or for Krav Maga. Or literally anything else I do”, he replies defensively. Yennefer rolls her eyes at him and pulls a few shorts out, carefully trying to figure out which one is the shortest. Geralt tries not to think too much about why she wants him in his shortest shorts to begin with. Then he remembers the violet bruises on the insides of her thighs that she always had when she started pole dance, back when they were still a thing, and how she explained that they’re from the pole. Surely, Jaskier won’t make him do something that causes that in his first lesson, right?

Yennefer is a whirlwind, pushing him through his apartment, and Geralt is too overwhelmed to protest much, which is how he ends up eating dinner with her before she ushers him into her car. He doesn’t point out that they’ll be at least thirty minutes early if they’re going now, there’s no point trying to get Yennefer to listen to anything he says tonight.

They park behind an unassuming building that could be either a worn-down apartment complex or an office building. He doesn’t know what he’s expected a dance studio to look like, really, because in theory he should know that this is how small, independent sports work. Vesemir’s martial arts club is in very similar building, after all. But somehow, he’s assumed that a pole dance studio would look different. He feels stupid now.

“Are you ready?”, Yennefer asks, and Geralt sighs. He’s not feeling ready, but he doubts that’s going to change, so he just nods. 

It’s good enough for Yen, who leads them up some stairs and finally rings the bell at an apartment door. Geralt can hear the muffled sound of music, then it stops, and a few seconds later Jaskier opens the door for them. He’s slightly sweaty and only wearing a very tiny pair of shorts. Geralt very pointedly avoids looking anywhere but his face or the floor after he catches himself staring.

“Come in, you’re early, but that gives us some extra time to make sure you’re all warmed up”, he beams at them and steps aside. Geralt enters, looking around a small lobby. There’s a desk at one wall, and a shelf filled with files. The rest of the room looks like a minimalist living room, some couches and an armchair gathered around a coffee table. There’s a door leading further into the building, and a shoe rack next to it.

He stops looking when he realizes that Yennefer hasn’t followed him in and turns around to look for her.

She’s still standing in the door, watching him, and when their eyes meet, she grins.

“I forgot something in the car. I’ll be right back!” Then she spins on her heel and disappears. Geralt blinks. Something is off about this. He feels like she’s tricked him again, purposefully leaving him with Jaskier and the prospect of joining a whole class of pole dancers. A realization dawns on him.

“She’s not coming back, is she?”, he asks Jaskier.

“I mean. She’ll probably pick you up after class, but for now? No, I don’t think so. Hey, don’t look like that, we’re going to have fun! Take off your shoes and change into your shorts, then we can give you a head start before the rest arrives.” Jaskier’s smile is a lot more reassuring than Yennefer’s. Geralt relaxes ever so slightly and does as he’s told while Jaskier starts to chatter about everything and nothing. Geralt is too overwhelmed to participate beyond listening and humming and huffing when it’s appropriate, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind.

\---

Jaskier is trying not to stare at Geralt’s very, very muscular thighs too much while he’s getting changed, so he just chatters about whatever comes to his mind. It’s how he copes.

“Any way, I’ve been considering to retire this class, we’re only around five people most weeks, but it motivates me to come here and do some office work, you know, because if I finish early I get to train in the studio all on my own, and while I have a pole at home, obviously, I don’t have as much space or a mirror that big, and -Wait. Geralt, are those your short shorts?”, he lets out a shocked gasp.

Jaskier stares at them in all their grey sweat fabric glory. They’re big, even on Geralt, hiding his muscly thighs and ending just above his knees. No gay man should own something so unflattering, actually, no one, no matter what gender or sexuality, should own them, but that’s besides the point. The point is that doing even a simple pole sit with these is probably absolutely impossible – unless you just hold your entire weight up with your arms, which Geralt is probably capable of, but that’s not helpful here. Geralt will break all of his bones if he tries to do so much as a standard climb dressed like that.

“Hmm. They’re the shortest pair I own.”, Geralt justifies, and Jaskier tries to soften his face a bit. This isn’t Yennefer, he can’t just relentlessly tease an almost stranger who’s already looking tense. Maybe, hopefully soon, they'll get to that point, because while Jaskier loves all of his friends, he has a tendency to express his love through ceaseless bickering.

“If you’re comfortable with going in underpants, I recommend doing that. If not, try to roll the legs up as far as they will go and we’ll figure out how to work with that. It’s fine for today, but if you end up liking this, well, maybe invest in a shorter pair.”, he smiles, trying to be reassuring, Geralt only seems to get more and more tense by the second. It's working, though, because Geralt seems to relax a little. 

“I’d rather keep them on, but I can roll them up. Yennefer made sure of that, she already gave me a lecture about needing shorter pants.”

“I hate to say it but for once she’s right. Now come on, big guy, it’s warm up time.”

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s wrist and pulls him into the actual studio, grabbing two yoga mats from the designated shelf on his way in. Then he looks at Geralt again, remembers how the dumbass has thought he could keep up with Yen, and decides to push him through Jaskier’s actual warm-up and strength training routine before the others arrive. Geralt is fit, he’s sure he’ll be able to keep up, but he has the deep desire to impress the man with his own fitness.

\---

Geralt is actually out of breath by the time the actual class starts, while Jaskier looks a bit more sweaty but otherwise unaffected. It’s a bit infuriating. Geralt would like to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t been to the gym in almost two weeks now, and that he had too much fast food with Ciri since then, but it’s not just that – Jaskier trains his muscles and flexibility in a way that’s simply foreign to Geralt. He’s not used to moving like this, being reminded to point his toes about every five seconds and keeping his back straight and circling his hips just doesn’t come naturally to him.

Jaskier, however, moves so fluidly through every exercise that it’s impossible for Geralt not to stare. His only condolence is that Jaskier can’t seem to keep his eyes off of him, either.

The first thirty minutes of the actual class are easy by comparison – clearly meant to build up strength for people who are essentially new to exercising at all. Then the actual pole work starts. Jaskier is standing at the pole at the very front, right in front of the huge mirror covering the entire wall, and demonstrates them how to do a – what did he call it? A fan kick? Jaskier does it again, only this time he doesn’t end up on the ground but in a sitting position, pole squeezed between his thighs. He lets go with one arm and leans back, smiling, before sitting up straight again and hopping back to the ground.

“That’s what we want to be able to do afterwards, your seats were all pretty okay last week, but please try to get at least one nice fan kick first, if I see a single one of you not pointing your toes by the end of this I will cry, yes this is a threat.”

While it has looked so easy when Jaskier did it, it becomes very apparent that it is not, in fact, easy, when the rest of the class makes an attempt. Jaskier makes his way to Geralt before he can try it himself, though. 

“Since you didn’t get the chance to figure out how to sit on the pole, we’ll start with that”, he says, and Geralt nods, because while it didn’t look hard, he’s beginning to think that this might be one of these dancer things where everything looks oh so easy, only that it’s actually brutal and dancers just stop feeling pain at some point.

“Okay, what do I do?”, he asks. Jaskier explains – start on your tiptoes, pull yourself up, cross your legs, lean to one side to grab the pole between your thighs. Be careful not to jump agains the pole or else you’ll effectively kick your own balls.

Logically, Geralt understands, so he tries. He manages to get into a much less graceful version of the sitting position, tilts his hips, and carefully tries to let go of the pole with his arms, because right now he’s clinging on for dear life and he’s more than aware that that’s what keeps him up.

Putting his weight on his thighs hurts. So so much. And he’s sliding down anyway, only speeding up the process of essentially falling because he can’t stand the burning sensation on the inside of his thighs anymore and just lets go. It hurts again when his butt hits the wooden floor.

“Fuck, I think I did something wrong. This hurt.”

Jaskier looks like he’s suppressing a laugh.

\---

Jaskier doesn’t want to be mean about this, he really doesn’t, but there’s something absolutely hilarious about seeing a man that’s probably 90% muscle mass slide down a pole while looking like he’s experiencing the worst pain of his life. 

“Fuck, I think I did something wrong. This hurt.”

Now Jaskier is laughing. “It’s dance, honey, of course it hurts. You stop noticing it too much after a while, but for now, you’ll just have to cope with this like everyone else.”

Speaking of. Jaskier looks around the room. Most of his students are starting to try the kick and sit combo, more or less successfully.

He pats Geralt’s shoulder. “Keep trying, I have a class to teach. Maybe call Yen, you can stay a bit longer and I’ll give you a private lesson to catch up with the others. I can drive you back home afterwards.”, he offers. He’s not flirting, he reasons with himself. He's not just saying this to get more time to look at Geralt's abs when his shirt slips up a little bit. No, he’s trying to be a good friend and coach. That’s all. And, okay, usually he doesn’t offer his friends free private lessons, but most of his friends don’t need them, either.

He goes back to the front, trying his hardest to focus on teaching, but every time he looks at the mirror he can’t stop himself from looking at Geralt’s reflection. He’s still struggling and suffering, but trying, and that determination makes Jaskier a little bit proud of Geralt and a bit less amused by his absolute lack of grace.

Finally, it’s time to send the rest of the class away again. Geralt actually stays behind.

“You called Yen?”, Jaskier asks, because letting Yen wait in the parking lot would be a terrible idea that would surely unleash her wrath upon them.

“I did. She sounded like she was already expecting this, but she’ll pick me up in an hour.”

“Oh, she probably was. Sometimes I think she has prophetic abilities, but then I remember that it's just because she’s been psychoanalyzing me since high school.”

Which is also why Yen knows that he’s stupidly into Geralt after seeing him once. Not that falling in love at first sight is a new thing for Jaskier, he falls for people so easily. He just hopes that this crush will be over soon, like the rest of his crushes. At least he falls out of love just as easily, it’s only a matter of time until Geralt will say something that will make Jaskier regret being attracted to men altogether, he’s sure.

Jaskier tries his hardest to teach Geralt the basics of moving with grace and elegance and also pole dance. They get a passable chair spin, and something that could be a back hook if you squint really hard, and a basic climb that lacks any beauty but is efficient enough to get Geralt to the ceiling. Jaskier keeps slapping his feet, though, because Geralt has the worst habit of flexing his feet the second no one watches them Jaskier has ever seen, and no student of his gets away with ruining any attempt at grace like that.

“How do I get down?” he asks, his head just beneath the ceiling, and Jaskier laughs, because surely, Geralt can’t be serious right now. It’s a three meter pole, not a fucking cliff. He could just fall down, as long as he lands feet first he should be mostly fine.

“Just slide down? Like you did as a kid at the playground? I believe in you, hulk.”, he teases. 

Geralt just lets go of the pole and drops to the ground, which works, too, for now, because his ceiling isn’t that high. If this was a competition stage, Geralt might want to consider not doing that, ever, at all. Geralt’s beams at him, though, clearly estatic about getting at least this move on the first try. 

“Is this why Yen and you suffer so much for this? Being up there feels great! It’s like flying!”

Jaskier feels like someone's hit him in the chest, because that’s it. That’s the reason he started with pole and stuck with it for so long. That’s why his whole life is centred around the sport. Though, if Geralt loves the being up in the air part of it, then maybe he’ll appreciate aerials. Jaskier doesn’t get the chance to finish that thought before he speaks it into existence, like he always does, because obviously, shutting up for more than five seconds isn’t an option for him.

“I have aerial silks set up at home. If you like the being up in the air part of this, you should come by to try it some time”, he blurts out. At this rate he’ll put himself out of business by giving hot men too many free classes. Or, actually, just this one very hot man, singular, so maybe it's not too terrible as a business practice. 

“That. That sounds nice, but I don’t want to intrude”, Geralt replies hesitantly. 

Jaskier blinks. Geralt doesn’t seem to be familiar with the concept of being wanted, because this is the second time he’s been invited to something and says that he doesn’t want to intrude. It would be cute if it didn’t make Jaskier worry about the man’s sense of self-worth.

“I literally just invited you, Geralt. As in, I asked you, because I want you to be there, because otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Hm. In that case, yes, I think I’d like that.”

“Great, it’s a date! Now go get dressed before you leave Yennefer waiting, I’ll finish closing up!”

Geralt looks as if he hit him with a brick but before Jaskier gets a chance to analyse what he said that cause the dumbfounded expression Geralt nods, turns around and speed-walks out of the studio.

Jaskier prays that whatever he said didn’t scare Geralt off for good, because he feels like they actually could get along. He’ll have to buy Yennefer a card to tell her how much he hates her for introducing them to each other as if she didn’t know that Jaskier would inevitably be into Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com)! also, for your viewing pleasure: [ a fan kick to pole sit combo ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OR0IytXFArY)[ and a bodybuilder trying to do pole dance ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BahYhhAL968&t=1036s)[ and another one ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRQUIr4dQC0>%20and%20another%20one%20<a/>%0A<a%20href=)  
> [ and yet another one ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yV9zAlk72PY)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is kinda short. truth is, it turned out way too long and i had to split it up or make you wait at least another day for a monster chapter, and this the only part where a split would make any sense.
> 
> And, again, thank you for all your support! I treasure each and every one of your comments, you guys are the sweetest!

Jaskier stares at his phone as if it holds the answer to all the questions of the universe. Considering that google is a thing, it almost does. Right now, though, he’s focused on a question a search engine can’t answer for him. It’s the question of whether or not he has an accidental date with Geralt. He knows, now, what made Geralt look Like That™ after he invited him over, because he’s staring at a text from the man that sounds a lot more confident than in person Geralt seems to be with probably the exact same expression. The text is from Friday and he still hasn’t figured out what to reply without making this potentially awkward. The text reads  
‘Great, see you Sunday. Remember, it’s a date! ;)’

Sunday is today. Jaskier still doesn’t know if this is Geralt making a joke, or if he took Jaskier’s joke seriously and actually thinks this is a date. Hell, Jaskier isn’t even sure anymore if he wants this to be a date or not. If this is a date, he’ll need to get ready, and wear something nice, and probably provide a better meal than a protein shake as a post aerial silk workout snack.

The main issue, Jaskier thinks, is that he isn’t good at dating. He’s the type that has sex on the first date, because why stop himself from having fun after a nice date, and if the sex is good enough there might be a second date where they skip the date part completely and go straight for the sex. It’s not that he hates the idea of having all the nice, cheesy stuff with someone, he just never met someone where thinking about that seemed realistic.

He cannot do that with Geralt for two reasons. One, Geralt probably isn’t the type for quick fucks and no romance. He seems like the type to settle down with one person and adopt a dog together or something. Two, that would make seeing him again very awkward, and Yennefer has apparently adopted him as her charity project, so they will see each other in the future.

Which means that if he wants to fuck Geralt, he’ll have to figure out if he wants to get involved romantically first.

He has a few friends he fucks regularly, but they’re not dating. He doesn’t have the time to date someone normal. Every competitive season, he travels across the country, and then usually internationally, and when he’s not travelling he’s almost living in his studio for at least a month before the whole thing starts. It’s his job, he’s an athlete and trainer and studio owner all in one, and he doesn’t plan to retire until he wins the World Pole Championship or gets injured trying, especially after Valdo fucking Marx beat him last year.

He sighs and stares at his phone again. He can imagine owning a stupid fucking dog with Geralt, and that’s troubling, because he barely knows the man. He knows that Geralt is a gym bro, but he doesn’t think he’s the type to do competitions. So for now he probably just has to wait until they know each other better before making an educated choice. If Geralt is even interested, he still doesn’t know if this is a date or not. He realizes that his thought process has come full circle and decides he needs to do something about this before he goes crazy and just sits here staring at the wall until Geralt arrives.

He does what he always does when his love life turns messy, which is at least once a month, and calls Yennefer.

“Jaskier, darling, how are you doing? Do you need help to prepare for your date?”

Jaskier groans, because of course Yen already knows. Geralt has probably told her when he asked for his number or something.

“So it is a date? Geralt expects this to be a date? He wants this to be a date?”, he asks. Yen has the gall to laugh at him.

“He thinks you invited him to a date, and he’s nervous enough about it that he called me, like, an hour ago, and asked if I could help him with an outfit.”

“That only answers about half of my questions, Yen, thank you very much – wait, you’re at his place?”, he panics. What if Geralt can hear him? Oh no, this is a disaster. Why did he have to pick the worst best friend in the whole wide world? He deserves better.  
“Jesus, Jask, relax. I’d never abandon you like that. I told him to get his sister to help him, so I’m available as your own personal therapist. You want me to come over? Because I’m on my way.”

He takes it back. He has the best best friend in the whole wide world. 

“You’re an angel, Yennefer, and I’d kiss your feet if you wanted that, but you don’t so I won’t. I’d say I owe you ice cream, but you still owe me another one, so I guess that would just cancel out –“

“Yikes, gross, please just stop talking and go take a shower if you haven’t done that yet. I’ll be there in ten minutes to help you pick an outfit. Also, I took the liberty of buying groceries so we can cook a dinner for your date, you’re welcome.”

Yennefer hangs up before Jaskier can even say thank you. Yennefer is the sweetest, but she doesn’t cope well with being told that, so Jaskier just smiles like an idiot and thanks the universe instead. Then he goes and takes a shower, because if he’s still in the pyjamas that he’s had on during his morning workout routine when Yennefer arrives she’ll kill him.

He opens the door for her wrapped in one of his very fluffy and very big towels, which means that it covers everything from his collarbones to his knees. Yen pulls him into a quick hug as soon as the door closes behind her, then she makes her way to his kitchen where she puts the groceries away as if this was her house. It sort of is, Jaskier muses. She spends more than enough time here, enough that she has her own key and one of the neighbours has asked about his ‘lovely wife’ before. After that incident, he finally found the motivation to hang up a rainbow flag in his front yard, because the thought of marrying Yennefer is appalling.

“What am I cooking tonight?”, Jaskier asks, because he knows better than to look at the ingredients and figure out something for himself. Yennefer probably meticulously planned this whole dinner thing for him already, and it makes all of this feel a lot less casual than he wants it to be. He’s starting to regret calling her, but it’s too late now, so he might as well use her presence to his advantage and let her help him make this perfect.

“Lasagna. Before you complain about how I can’t always make you eat food that doesn’t fit your diet, I’d like to point out that it’s still a few months until the season starts and also it’s Geralt’s favorite food. You’re welcome for this secret hint, just don’t tell him you got that information from me and pretend that it was a lucky guess.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth, because he was about to complain about just that. 

“This feels like too much for a first date, third meeting type of thing”, he whines instead.

“It is. But Ciri has found your Instagram and decided that her brother needs to wow you tonight, so I’m just making sure that both of you will be uncomfortable tonight.”, she laughs about his pouting before ushering him to his bedroom.

“I don’t even know if I want it to be a date, Yennefer. And you still didn’t tell me if he wants this to be a date.”

“He literally can’t stop eye fucking you right in front of me, Jaskier. I know you’re not a romantic, but at this point I just want you two to get on with it so we can move on to either the honeymoon phase or the heart break, either is fine by me, just please don’t make me watch the two of you undressing each other with your eyes while I’m trying to enjoy some gelato with my girlfriend.”

“It’s not that bad, I’m trying very hard not to stare, because, well, may I remind you that this guy has never dated a man before? He doesn’t seem like the one night stand type!”

Yennefer looks at him with that look on her face that tells him that she’s doing the analysing thing again, until she grins at him again.

“Aww, you care about him! You like him!”; she coos. Jaskier throws the underpants he just pulled out of his closet at her, which she promptly catches and throws back at him, but he doesn’t correct her, which is all the answer she really needs.

“Well, this is delightful. Triss is going to love this, her very own romcom, right in front of her nose.”

“This is never going to work and you know it. Even if I woo your ex, he’s going to hate my guts during comp season. Hell, you hate me sometimes during that time of the year.”

“That’s because you’re terrible when you don’t have the time to get laid for two months straight. Which would actually be less likely to happen if you had a boyfriend-“

“No one uses the B word in my house yet, Yen, no, don’t give me that look. Geralt is here for an aerial silk lesson, and, thanks to you, lasagna. That’s it. I am not going to fuck him, or romance him, thank you for talking some sense back into me, now help me pick an outfit before I kick you out.”

“Sure, if you say so”, Yen agrees way to easily, which just means that she’s not believing a word he said.

Jaskier just makes a pitiful noise and gives up. He lets Yennefer pick his outfit, which ends up being something way simpler than he would’ve chosen for a date. Probably a dress down to play it cool type of thing, as if he’s ever been cool a second in his life. He’s loud, and emotional, and bold, and it shows in his usual clothes. He lets her do his hair, too, and a bit of makeup just because they still have time and she enjoys doing that. He doesn’t point out that this is a workout date, and he’ll just sweat most of it off. It’s calming, always bringing back memories of Yennefer and him in her college dorm, where she started to do his makeup for various parties. They turn on some music, and when she’s done, Jaskier starts to ruin her makeup as a sign of gratitude, and they laugh on his bed together.

Finally, it’s time for her to leave. Jaskier feels calmer now, not really because of any of the preparations but simply because he got to hang out with his best friend. They literally could’ve watched some dumb youtube documentary with the exact same results, but he looks nice, so he’s not complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still find me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no experience with aerial silks beyong rigging them, which is why i kept the descriptions very, very vague. bear with me.

Geralt doesn’t feel ready when he finally leaves the house and gets on his motorcycle to drive to the address Jaskier has texted him a few days ago. Ciri has tried her very best to prepare him, helping him with picking out an outfit that looks nice while still being workout appropriate according to her, and then she googled Jaskier’s dance studio, which lead her to his Instagram account, which led to both of them sitting in his kitchen nook staring at Jaskier’s videos for hours. It didn’t do anything to calm his nerves; Jaskier just looked happy and confident in every single one of them, making all the hard exercises look dreamy and effortless. There’s even a few pictures of him doing aerial silk… things. Geralt doesn’t even know what it’s called. Is it acrobatics? It might be acrobatics.

At least, Ciri was happy to visit him and eat most of his unhealthy foods for him. Seeing her smile and cheer for him makes this worth it, so he can’t cancel his date last minute. He has to do this, for her, and if it ends up not being a date after all and everything is just one big misunderstanding, well, at least she’ll get a story out of this.

He has no idea where he is, but the google maps navigator voice he’s hearing through his headphones tells him where to go next, and that should be enough to arrive eventually. Somehow, he ends up in front of a reasonably sized house in the suburbs. He thinks that maybe he got the address wrong, because Jaskier doesn’t seem like the type to own a house with a garden in the suburbs, white picket fence included, but there’s a pride flag in the front lawn, so maybe Jaskier managed to get a house while Geralt is still living in his tiny apartment because he’s literally too lazy to look for something else.

He parks his bike in the driveway, takes his helmet off and prepares internally to go and visit Jaskier in his home. He has to remind himself that he was invited here, that Jaskier said that he wants him to come over. He can do this.

It takes maybe five seconds for Jaskier to open the door. He’s already in what looks like a workout outfit, though significantly more dressed than his pole dance outfits – leggings and an oversized t-shirt that gives Geralt slight eighties vibes, but without the hideous color combinations. And, oh, is he wearing makeup? He’s definitely wearing makeup. It looks good on him, though.

“You’re a biker”, Jaskier says instead of a greeting, sort of… gaping at him? Geralt scratches his neck nervously. Is this a positive or a negative reaction? Does Jaskier like him in his leather jacket and pants?

“Y-yeah. Don’t have the space to park a car in the city. Uh. Can I come in?” Jaskier is still staring at him and blocking the door, but at Geralt’s words he blinks, licks his lips and nods before seeming to realize that he’s in the way and moves aside.

“Please take off your shoes at the door. And, well, whatever else you have to take off, I don’t think you can actually move with all that leather. Though it’s a good look on you.”

Geralt looks up at the compliment, only to see Jaskier blushing ever so slightly. He can feel his own face flushing red and quickly looks down to focus on his boots again. So maybe this really, truly is a date. Maybe Jaskier is flirting. He doesn’t know what to do with that information, so he just decides to ignore it for now. He’s here for the aerial silks and just hopes that this is a bit easier than pole dance because he really wants to get up in the air without a fear of dying.

When he’s ready, Jaskier leads him through the house to a room that doesn’t really have a ceiling. Where the second floor should be are simply a few exposed beams, and a level above that, the roof. It’s a strange setup, but makes it possible to have an incredibly long piece of fabric hanging from the roof beams down to the floor. There’s a thick mat beneath it, and Geralt is relieved. This is a lot higher than he thought it would be, and even if he doesn’t make it up more than halfway he could probably really hurt himself if he falls. Looking around, he spots not one but two poles, and, leaning against the wall, a big metal hoop that he assumes to be another aerial thing, and some general exercise stuff – mats, yoga blocks, stuff he has at home, too.

“This is… impressive. Also very high.”

Jaskier just laughs. “That’s pretty much the point of this whole thing. It used to be a ballet studio, hence the wooden floor, but I kinda bastardized it after I stopped doing ballet.”

Geralt tries to imagine Jaskier doing ballet and fails. Sure, he has all the grace of a dancer, but imagining him in white tights with classical music in the background is just not something he can picture Jaskier in. Then again, he hardly knows the man.

“So this has been your house for a while?”, he asks instead of visualizing Jaskier stretching in a ballet tricot, because he doesn’t want things to be awkwardly quiet before they even started doing their warm up, but also because he tries to put the pieces together between the bits of knowledge about Jaskier that he has.

“Yeah. I inherited it from my grandparents. Wouldn’t exactly chose the suburbs otherwise, but a free house with the current rent prices? I’d be an idiot not to use this.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, because this suddenly feels very private – presumably dead grandparents don’t exactly make a great small talk topic – so he just hums like he always does when he doesn’t know what to say anymore. Jaskier uses the short break to turn on music, something that sounds like some indie rock band that he’s never heard before. It’s not what he expected but he’s not complaining.

“Come on, time to warm up, we can talk during dinner.”

Geralt wants to ask when this whole thing has become a workout and dinner afterwards kind of thing, but Jaskier is already moving, so Geralt just follows his lead.

\---

Jaskier would love to say that Geralt is better with the aerial silks than he is at pole dancing, but that would be a blatant lie. His strength works more to his advantage here, though, and Jaskier has decided that today is about fun and just pretends not to notice that Geralt looks like a mix between some wriggling worm and a hippo in the air. At least he’s in the air, even if it’s not an objectively beautiful sight. Jaskier is everything but objective about this, anyway, he just sees Geralt enjoying the feeling of being up there and his brain short-circuits while his heart does somersaults in his chest.

Geralt, while lacking any grace, has managed to get about halfway up, where he recreated the knot Jaskier has taught him before he let him climb that high, feet securely wrapped in the fabric while sitting on the tied ends. He’s looking rather content to just stay there after falling into the fabric on purpose a few times, obviously worried if the silks will support his weight (and then a few more times on accident for good measure, too). Jaskier would be insulted by the lack of trust in his rigging skills if Geralt was any more experienced in this, because really, he knows what he’s doing, there’s no way in hell that his setup won’t hold. 

It would be a good time to start on things like posture, and maybe and easy trick, but Jaskier doesn’t think he could handle ruining Geralt’s smile with the frustration of inevitably failing. Instead, he decides to keep this fun. He knows that if it was anyone else up in the air, he wouldn’t even consider this, but he’s gay, and apparently terribly soft for this man, and there’s nothing he can – or wants to – do about that.

“Do you feel like you’ll be able to stay where you are for a bit without falling?”, he asks instead, because while fun is great, he doesn’t fancy his date falling down and cracking his skull open on his expensive wooden floor. 

“I don’t like what that question implies, but yes”, Geralt replies. It turns out that Geralt does have a sense of humor, though it’s very dry, and Jaskier is slowly learning to appreciate it. The other option would be that Geralt is unintentionally funny like that, which would make Jaksier kind of rude by laughing about this.

“Then hold on, I’ll swing you.”

“What?!”, Geralt all but shrieks. It’s too late, though, Jaskier has grabbed the ends of the cloth and is pulling them to the side with as much force as he can muster. He doesn’t get very far, because while he’s strong, Geralt is probably twice his weight. Jaskier tries not to linger on that thought. He doesn’t need to fantasize even more about what Geralt could do to him with all that muscle – or how nice it would be to have Geralt beneath him, and… no. He’s not going down that road.

He needs to distract himself, looking up at Geralt who’s actually laughing now that he’s swinging in the air isn’t an option. He’s sure he’d simply die from cardiac arrest if he looks at Geralt being all happy and graceless in his bright blue aerial silks. It shouldn’t be endearing that someone who’s obviously aware of their body is still so hopeless at moving it elegantly, but it is.

Eventually, Geralt stops swinging and comes back down, panting slightly; being in the air for so long requires more strength than one would suspect.

“Why is everything you do so much more exhausting than it looks?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Geralt, maybe it’s because I’m an athlete. Like, I don’t know what you expect me to tell you, besides train more if you want to be good at this”, he can’t believe he’s having this conversation. Geralt can be so dumb, but he looks so genuine while asking these things that it’s endearing rather than infuriating. He’s starting to understand why Yennefer used to date this man.

“I don’t think my ceiling is stable enough for aerial silks or a pole dance… pole… that sounds wrong. There should be a better word for this.”

Jaskier laughs and does what he seems to do best around pretty men: he says something without thinking a single thought about the consequences. It’s as if the second he sees a handsome man his mouth just says whatever will make him see that man more often, with no regard for rational reasoning from his brain.

“You should just come by regularly, then. Or do more classes. Or both. From what Yennefer told me you don’t really have much else going on right now.”

“You wound me! I do have other things in my life.”

Jaskier doubts it, because when trying to figure out when Geralt could come over for this, they only really had to look at his schedule. Geralt was simply available whenever he wasn’t working. Just pointing that out would feel terribly mean, though.

“Oh? Like what?”, he asks instead, which is effectively the same thing, just more teasing than a straight up call out.

“I teach Krav Maga, and I have a family dinner once a week, and I work.”

Jaskier tries not to be jealous of the family dinner. He knows that a dinner with his parents wouldn’t be enjoyable, and it’s good that they live at the other end of the country in their stupid mansion and pretend that he doesn’t exist. He has his own, chosen family of friends, there’s nothing he’s missing. It’s what he keeps telling himself. He can’t linger on that thought though, he’s having a conversation.

“Work doesn’t count. Family dinner once a week is, as you said yourself, once a week. I grant you that training kids counts as having something to do, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Hm. I’ll take a look at your class plan and my own schedule and text you when I made a choice?”, Geralt sounds a bit sceptical, but it’s not a no, so Jaskier will take it. He’s good at just ignoring rejection until someone out right tells him to fuck off. Until then, he has decided, it’s the other person’s problem that he’s annoying.

“Great. Now let me make use of my aerial silks or else I’ll have done a warmup for nothing. Don’t judge my performance too harshly, please, I haven’t done this in a while.”

Geralt probably won’t be able to tell, because Jaskier’s rusty version is still worlds above Geralt’s first attempt at this, but for his own standards? He’s pretty bad at this. He hasn’t really had the time to use this for months, or maybe he just hasn’t taken the time, considering that he’s had time for running his studio, doing pole, and going out with friends. Ah, well. Maybe, if Geralt likes this, it will encourage him to get back into aerial stuff himself, there’s nothing quite like showing off his skills in front of someone he desperately wants to impress to motivate him.

He doesn’t trust himself with most of the truly advanced moves, not sure if he’ll wrap the silks around himself just right, so he just goes through the things he knows almost instinctively. Geralt looks like he’s about to faint when Jaskier does a star drop, though, so it’s probably still enough to impress his date.

It’s also enough to enjoy being in the air like this. Sometimes he wonders why he picked pole as his main thing, and not something aerial, because this is amazing. Then he remembers how hard it was to even find something affordable with high and stable enough ceilings for a pole dance studio. For aerial silks, he probably would’ve had to either use his home or build his own studio, both of which are terrible for widely different reasons. People in his home vs financial ruin. Also, at this point, focusing on something else before he beats Valdo Marx would feel like a defeat.

When he’s done, standing in front of Geralt and panting slightly, he still wants to do better, though. Wants to see Geralt’s awestruck face again, because after about three seconds of staring at Jaskier as if he’s magical, his expression shifts to carefully guarded again.

“So, I heard we’ll have dinner…”

Jaskier’s heart sinks a little, because while dinner would be great, too, so would be a compliment.

“You’ll get dinner in exchange for a nice review of my performance.”

“Hm.”

“Come on, Geralt, three words or less, then I’ll make lasagna for both of us”, he’s whining and he knows it, but if Geralt thinks that a simple grunt and a smirk would suffice in earning him dinner, he’s wrong.

Geralt looks contemplative for a few moments, as if he’s unsure how honest he should be, but then he’s looking at Jaskier with that awfully genuine smile again.

“It was impressive. Also, I was sure you’re going to die a few times. And no one should be able to do splits in the air with their feet higher than their hips. Do you have bones, Jaskier? Ligaments? Muscles? Anything inside your body that gives it some structural integrity?”

It’s far more than three words, an Jaskier beams at the sort of compliments. 

“See, not that hard, was it? Now you earned your dinner and I don’t have to kick you out with no food.”

Geralt snorts. “You wouldn’t”

“Don’t tempt me, Geralt. I can do it.”

They fall into conversation easily after that. Jaskier still does most of the talking, but he thinks – hopes – that it’s just because Geralt is a quiet person by nature. Jaskier tells him small stories about his life, mostly about quitting ballet, the resulting fall out with his parents and building up his own studio with Yennefer’s help, and some fun tidbits from his recent clubbing downfalls. He’s more than comfortable laughing about his own stupidity in those, because really, in hindsight, most of them are hilarious.

Geralt starts to talk more, too, when the food is in the oven. About his adoptive siblings, mostly – Lambert accidentally lighting their tree house on fire is probably Jaskier’s favorite – but also a bit about the kids he teaches. Jaskier is glad that there are no children in his studio, but he has to admit that they sound fun to teach when they’re in a good mood.

It’s getting dark when Geralt finally gets up to leave, neither of them wanting the night to end. Jaskier had fun, even though it was a very different kind of fun from his usual dates. His usual dates tend to spend the night with him, too, so he’s not quite sure how to say goodbye after dinner rather than hurrying off to work or sneaking out before breakfast.

Geralt is wearing his biker stuff again, and Jaskier desperately wants him to stay the night so he can be the one to take the tight, black leather pants off. Instead, he just awkwardly stares and prays that Geralt either doesn’t notice what this look does to him, or at least doesn’t mind.

“So, you’ll come to the Thursday night class again?”, he asks faintly, because if he can’t fuck Geralt right here and now, door open for all his neighbors to see, then he at least needs to know that he’ll see the man again.

“Of course. I’ll text you about maybe making this a more frequent thing, too. Maybe I’ll make you join my Krav Maga kids sometime, as revenge, too.”

“So I can get my beautiful face kicked in by a middle schooler?”

“Hey, middle school is tough. Lots of pent up rage there. I don’t think a black eye could ruin your face, though.”

Jaskier snorts and shakes his head, but the compliment makes his heart flutter.

“Get home safe, Geralt”, he says, and then he pulls him into a hug and kisses him on the cheek, because it’s what Jaskier does with all of his friends, and also because he thinks he might die if he doesn’t get to touch Geralt’s leather jacket at least a little bit.

“Good night, Jaskier.” Jaskier shivers a bit, he can feel Geralt’s low voice vibrating in his chest when he’s so close. He has to take a step back, now, before he can get an erection from a simple fucking hug. Geralt, luckily, lets him go and gets on his bike. They wave at each other one last time, and the second Geralt puts on his helmet, Jaskier slams the door shut so he can’t stare any longer.

He’s so fucked. He knows what it’s like to be infatuated with someone. He falls a little bit in love with at least three men every time he goes clubbing. But this? This feels so much more intense. It’s like he’s drowning, and Geralt is his only hope of survival. Yennefer is going to love her match making success, if she isn’t too busy laughing at him for being so foolish. What kind of person falls in love on their first date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can still find me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not uploading anything yesterday, I got a little bit carried away with a sewing project.
> 
> TW for underage drinking? Kinda? It's not underage drinking for me, but it is when you're American, I guess.

Geralt is sitting in a dimly lit McDonald's. Ciri is across the table, wolfing down her chicken nuggets after dipping them in strawberry milkshake. It's disgusting.

"Thanks again for picking me up."

Geralt grunts and rubs his eyes. It's very, very early in the morning or very, very late at night, depending on who you ask, and all he can think about is that he's supposed to be at Jaskier’s place in a few hours for their Sunday aerial session. He yearns for the comfort of his bed.

"Please try not to make me do this again. I love you, but I'm too old for this."

'This' includes waking up in the middle of the night from a phone call of your little sister, who's supposed to be at her friends place for a party, but got kicked out after starting a fight with their host once she was 'a little too tipsy', as she put it. Geralt isn't sure how he feels about his sixteen-year-old sister getting drunk at a house party, or her wandering around the city alone afterwards because her friends let her leave on her own instead of bringing her home.

He thinks he should scold her, but he's tired and just relieved that she's okay and that she trusted him enough to call in the middle of the night. He wants her to trust him again if she needs him for something similar in the future. Also, he's been up to worse when he was her age, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"It's not my fault that I got kicked out!"

He sighs and steals one of her fries. It's soggy, under salted and tastes vaguely starchy. He can practically feel his cholesterol levels rising. It's the best 4am snack he's ever had.

"No, but I might have to kill your friends for leaving you alone just so they can stay and party afterwards", he finally says. Truth be told, he's a lot angrier at them than he is at Ciri. He might be biased because she's his sister, though.

"Go ahead, I won't stop you. Laura sided with that fucking bitch Vanessa during the fight, and Lena had the nerve to suggest I have a crush on Oscar. He's that sort of gross soccer fanatic I told you about, remember?"

Geralt grunts again. He thinks he might remember, but that's a lot of names all at once, and while he tries his hardest to keep track of Ciri's ever evolving social circle it's a futile effort. 

He steals another soggy fry. Ciri makes a weak attempt to slap his hand away. Normally, he would've dodged that attack easily, but he's tired and momentarily distracted by someone loud walking through the door. Ciri's hit doesn't stop him from eating his fry, though.

He looks up when one of the guys who just entered starts talking in a painfully familiar voice. It's two men, glued together at the hip, arms loosely thrown around each other's shoulders. One of them has a very, very familiar slim but muscly build, brown, wavy hair and, when he looks in his direction, deep blue eyes. Geralt chokes on his fry.

"Jaskier?", he asks, though it's not aimed at anyone in particular. 

Ciri, of course, hears him and looks up. Recognition flashes over her face (they did spend over an hour stalking Jaskier on Instagram together just over three weeks ago, after all) and, inhibitions still lowered from drinking, she jumps out of her seat and waves.

"Hey, Jaskier, come sit with us!", she yells across the room. Geralt buries his head in his arms. This is not how he imagined Jaskier meeting Ciri, or Ciri meeting Jaskier. It's too late now, though.

"GERALT!", Jaskier answers, obviously delighted and just as loud and drunk as Ciri – perhaps more drunk, actually, considering that he sways slightly when he runs over, the man at his side immediately forgotten. He sits down on the bench next to Geralt, pressed up against his side for lack of space, and immediately takes one of Ciri's chicken nuggets... and dips it in her milkshake. Geralt groans.

"Not you too. That's. The poor chicken didn't die for this."

Jaskier looks at his half-eaten chicken nugget, then he makes direct eye contact with him, dips it in the milkshake and eats it in one bite. It makes Ciri laugh despite the stolen food and the usually unforgivable double-dipping.

"I like you!", she exclaims between giggles. It makes Jaskier beam at her.

"You must be Ciri. I see you have impeccable taste! Weird coincidence to meet you here, though. What are you doing at McDonald's on this fine Sunday morning?"

Jaskier is moving excitedly against Geralt's side, all toothy smiles and big gestures. It's too much, way too close, and at the same time not nearly enough.

"Ciri got herself kicked out of a party and didn't want to call Vesemir drunk", Geralt explains before Ciri can retell the whole story in the most dramatic way possible again.

"Ciri, darling, I am so proud of you", Jaskier purrs, despite the fact that he doesn't know half of the story, and Geralt elbows him, hard, because really, Ciri is sixteen, no need to egg her on. 

"Ow! I mean, Ciri, how could you, that was very irresponsible."

Jaskier’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. Ciri is giggling again. Geralt shakes his head and gives up. He should have known that they'd get along way too well; he needs to change the topic before they conspire against him.

"What are you doing here, though?", he asks instead. He can imagine it well enough, considering how Jaskier was essentially draped over another drunk man when he entered, but it's still a valid enough question.

"Well, I was out clubbing when this beautiful gentleman offered to bring me back home – speaking of, where is he? – but then I decided I was more hungry than interested in fucking him-" Geralt elbows him again and looks pointedly at Ciri. He receives two perfectly timed eye rolls in return. "- I think Ciri knows how sex works, Geralt, she's fucking sixteen and just as drunk as I am, stop elbowing me. Anyway, I asked him to drop me off at McDonald's, which he apparently took as an invitation to come here with me and then continue bringing me home. Then Ciri called me over, and I stole her chicken nugget, and at some point, the guy I fell in love with tonight left, apparently, because I can't see him anymore. Which is nice because I can go get myself a happy meal, and then spend the rest of the night with you guys, and you're objectively better company. Am I rambling? I'm rambling. Sorry. I do that when I'm drunk."

Geralt's tired brain can't follow. All he knows is that Jaskier prefers his company over getting laid, and that he's pressed against his side still, and he makes Ciri smile even when he's stealing yet another chicken nugget. It’s enough to drown out that tiny little bit of misplaced jealousy he’s felt when he saw Jaskier with someone else like that.

"How are you going to get home without that guy, though?" Ciri asks, obviously better at processing things than he is right now. It's a good question, though, because Geralt came on his bike, Roach, and he doesn't think driving with two drunk people would be a good idea. Driving with two sober people would be a bad idea already.

"That's a great question! I guess I could walk, it's not that far anymore. Or try to get an uber, but it's going to take a while until one will show up out here. Which makes me wonder, Ciri. What kind of asshole hosts a house party in the suburbs?"

"I walked, like, two hours before I called Geralt to come pick me up."

Jaskier grimaces and starts lecturing Ciri about safety, obviously forgetting that she essentially grew up in martial arts classes, though he has a point. Geralt can't focus on it, because really? Jaskier plans to walk the rest of the way? The hypocrisy of lecturing Ciri about walking at night while planning to do the same thing is almost comedic. Geralt won't let him walk, though.

"New plan. We all drive to Jaskier’s place and sleep there. You're both drunk and I'm so tired that I might as well be, the shorter the way the better", he interrupts them, not sure what they're even talking about anymore.

"Oh, I like this plan! It's a sleepover!", Jaskier immediately agrees, which is great, because Geralt just invited himself over, he realizes. He knows Jaskier for maybe a month, and, Sundays aside, all of their meetings have been in a professional context - he's still going to the Thursday pole dance class, as well as one on Tuesdays, so they see each other a lot, but rarely get to talk more than a few minutes.

"Okay, good. Come on kids, last orders and then we'll figure out how to squeeze all of us on Roach", Geralt says and eats the last fry. This is going to be the worst trip of his life, but he'll get a bed, or a couch, or whatever, without driving at least half an hour with his drunk little sister. It also means not having to prepare the couch for her. That's Jaskier’s job now.

Once Jaskier finally has his happy meal, they squeeze onto Roach. It's a very, very tight fit, but it's doable. Geralt just prays that they don't run into any police, because between the two drunk idiots behind him and himself without a helmet, that encounter wouldn't end well.

\---

Jaskier isn't even that drunk, but sitting on Geralt's bike with his helmet, which smells distinctively like him, is a special type of intoxicating. He's glad that Ciri is squished between them, because he doesn't know how he'd handle sitting directly behind Geralt. Just wrapping his arms around both of them is already so nice.

It's still a good thing that they get back to his place in less than ten minutes, because they're breaking several traffic laws and he's sort of scared that he'll just fall off at every corner. Three people is two more than there reasonably should be on a bike.

When they're finally in front of his door, he realizes that his keys are buried in his pockets. He tries to get them out, but his hands don't seem to get the memo. Finally, Geralt steps into his space, slips his hand in his back pocket, pulls the keys out and opens his door. Jaskier can't breathe. All his brain power is focused on not getting an accidental boner in front of Ciri because her brother touched his ass. At least he steps away as soon as he has the keys because otherwise Jaskier might faint.

Inside, he realizes that he now has to find them places to sleep. His old room slash guest bedroom only has a single bed, though. Well, Ciri and Geralt are siblings, maybe they won't mind sharing Jaskier’s own bed. Otherwise someone will have to sleep on the couch. Probably Jaskier, because he's a good host.

"I have my own big bed and a single bed in the guest room, you can either share my bed or I'll sleep on the couch...", he trails off, already going upstairs to grab some spare pillows from the storage closet. The others trail behind him.

"I'll take the single bed", Ciri says without missing a beat. Right, teenage girls probably deserve their own space. Jaskier sighs and accepts that he'll sleep on the slightly too short couch. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Right, the door to the left is yours, then. The next room is a bathroom", he tells her and pushes a pillow and fresh sheets in her hands. He may be their host, but he's not going to make three beds while drunk.

"Have fun with Geralt tonight", she says, winks at him, and closes the door behind her before he gets the chance to say anything. Geralt just looks even more tired. Jaskier sighs. Ciri is way too similar to Yennefer for someone who's approximately half her age.

"Okay. Then it's time to find you a place to sleep", he says and opens the door to his own bedroom. It’s pure luck that it’s currently rather tidy, fresh sheets and all. Except maybe it isn’t, because Geralt was supposed to be here in a few hours anyway, and Jaskier likes to have every single room cleaned up before visitors arrive, just in case. It’s Yennefer’s fault, really; she’s a sneaky bastard with no sense for privacy who goes snooping around the second she’s left unattended.

"That's your room", Geralt says when he steps through the door. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Yes. I'm being a nice person by letting you sleep in an actual bed. You're welcome. The couch is only slightly too short for me, but definitely way too small for you."

Geralt grunts, stares at the bed and takes a deep breath.

"Don't be ridiculous Jaskier. The bed is big enough for both of us, you're drunk and I'm tired, just go to sleep."

Jaskier’s brain implodes. Geralt wouldn't mind sharing a bed with him?

"I. What?", he squeaks. It's undignified but he can't help it.

"If you don't mind sharing a bed with me, then neither do I. I'm going to lie down and sleep now, either you leave or you do the same."

Geralt just takes off his pants, and then his leather jacket, and then he slips under the covers in just his boxers and a shirt. Jaskier can't think straight. Geralt is in his bed. Geralt wants him to sleep in the same bed as him.

It shouldn't be a big deal, really. He's seen that man in short shorts and a tanktop before. He's touched him to help with stretching or a pose during practice. He's shared his bed with so many other men, sleeping, fucking, sometimes cuddling. It really, really shouldn't be a big deal.

But this intimacy is new and different between them, and a month after their initial meeting he's still in love with this man.

He's also very tired, and this might be a once in a lifetime chance, so he turns off the lights and lies down next to Geralt. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Geralt's breathing is already evening out, but Jaskier is wide awake again. Once his eyes have accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Geralt's face in the dim light of the street lantern outside. His hair looks more silver than white at night and his face is so relaxed and peaceful in his sleep. Jaskier can't help but carefully touch his hair.

Then he snaps his hand back as if he got burned. He can't just touch this man in his sleep. Heart pounding, he turns away. He stares at the wall until the sun rises before sleep finally finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can come talk to me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the late update! I wrote this chapter, hated every single word, deleted it and started again, and then real life demanded my attention for a bit, but I finally got something that's worth uploading c:

Jaskier wakes up to something - someone - warm draped over him. Without opening his eyes, he snuggles a bit closer. He rarely gets to wake up to a cuddly partner and plans to make the most of it.

Then he remembers the last night and realizes that the very heavy arms wrapped around him are Geralt's. Fuck. This is absolutely mortifying; he needs to get away before Geralt wakes up.

He tries to wriggle out of the tangled mess of limbs that Geralt turned them into in his sleep. However, as soon as he starts moving, the arms around him squeeze him into a death grip that makes any attempt to get away impossible. Jaskier lets out an undignified squeaky noise, because while he would love to just lay back and enjoy the embrace, he doesn't want Geralt to hate him the second he wakes up. He also doesn't want to get hard from this.

Geralt mumbles something and shifts in his sleep, pulling Jaskier with him like a ragdoll as he turns. They’re spooning properly now, and Jaskier is torn between relaxing and enjoying this while it lasts and making another attempt to escape. Not that he thinks he’d be successful this time, Geralt is too fucking heavy when he’s relaxed and too fucking strong when he isn’t.

There’s a knock on his door, followed by a muffled “Geralt?”

Right. Ciri is still here, probably slightly hungover.

“He’s still asleep”, he answers her, because Geralt doesn’t stir from her voice, at all. If he couldn’t feel his chest rising against his back with every breath he’d be a bit concerned, probably.

“Oh. Uh. I was wondering if we could have breakfast, I’m kinda starving. Wait, if you’re in your bedroom, then where’s Geralt?”, she asks, still muffled by the door. Apparently she respects privacy a lot, or she just really doesn’t want to risk seeing things.

“Your brother is currently doing his very best to strangle me. If you want to eat you’ll have to be my white knight and save me.”

There’s a snort that sounds like surpressed laughter, then his door opens.

“Didn’t think he’d sleep with you so soon”, Ciri says, the grin on her face seriously rivalling some of Yennefer’s. Jaskier doesn’t think he can deal with two very confident, beautiful, sadistic ladies in his life.

“He wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch, so we decided that sharing a bed as friends would be the comfortable thing to do. Which it was until he decided to use me as his teddy bear.”

Ciri raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t seem all that upset about it. I’m sure I can make breakfast for myself and let you two cuddle ‘til he wakes up”

“You’re terrible. The worst. I don’t know why I liked you last night.”

Ciri turns to leave and Jaskier panics for a second. He really needs to use the bathroom by now, and he’s hungry, too, and Geralt’s embrace is getting kind of sweaty with all the body heat and two blankets.

“Wait! Wait, if you help me I’ll make pancakes for all of us!”, he calls after her, because bargaining works well enough with Yennefer, maybe it will work with Ciri too.

“Hmm. He’s ticklish, maybe that will wake him up.”, she replies, and then leaves.

It’s. It’s something, Jaskier supposes. It’s not what he hoped for, though, because if he gets out of here by waking Geralt up, it means that Geralt will know that they were cuddling.

He doesn’t have much of a choice, though. He really, really needs to pee, and eat, and perhaps shower; he smells like alcohol and sweat after a whole night of dancing.

It takes a few attempts, but he manages to reach Geralt’s side with his hands. Through some miracle, the mountain of a man behind him actually starts to shift when he starts to tickle him there.

“Ugh, ten more minutes”, Geralt grunts, and Jaskier suddenly wonders how often someone had woken him up like this that this is his first response.

“You’ve had plenty of ten more minutes, Geralt, come on”, he replies, only slightly whiny. Geralt sits up straight as if the pillow bit him.

“Jaskier?”, he rasps, voice still hoarse from sleeping.

“Who else would it be, you’re in my fucking bed.”, he snaps back. Who the fuck invites himself over, asks to share a bed and then reacts with shock and surprise when he still wakes up in that very bed?

“Hmm. Sorry… for the cuddling. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

It’s Geralt who sounds deeply uncomfortable with having to apologize. It’s a bit comical, really, as if saying sorry was physically painful for him. It’s even funnier because Jaskier was definitely not uncomfortable with the cuddling, just with being trapped.

“It’s alright, Geralt. I didn’t actually mind, I just need my freedom to go make pancakes for your sister, and also to go to the bathroom real quick. Have to take a shower after last night.”

Geralt just grunts in acknowledgment. There’s a very faint blush on his cheeks, or maybe it’s just an imprint from the pillow.

“Right. I’ll go get cleaned up, you just get ready, or something, I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast in a few minutes. I can borrow you some clothes if you want? I can’t imagine your biking stuff to be especially comfortable for a Sunday morning – afternoon – brunch.” 

He turns to his closet and looks for some sweatpants and a shirt that are oversized enough on him that they might fit Geralt. When he finds something, he throws them at Geralt, who’s still sitting in his bed, then he grabs a change of clothes for himself and goes to the bathroom.

When he arrives in his kitchen, Ciri has already gone through his pantry and started making pancakes on her own. The batter looks decent enough, and there’s already a small stack on a plate while another one is sizzling in a pan with slightly too much oil. Geralt is sitting in the breakfast nook, dressed in Jaskier’s clothes, a sight that makes him feel… something. It’s probably just the domesticity, but he gets a slightly possessive pang in his chest. His Geralt, in his clothes, sitting in his kitchen, or something like that. He needs a distraction, so he steals a pancake from the stack.

“Hey! I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that!”, Ciri exclaims through a mouthful of her own pancake and slaps his hand.

“Oh, really? I’m not allowed to eat pancakes in my kitchen made from my food supplies? Then I guess I’ll just have to keep all the maple syrup and jam to myself!”

Ciri gasps and clasps her hands over her chest. “You wouldn’t!”

“You don’t leave me another choice, it’s all I have left! I’d starve to death if I can’t have at least that.”

Joking with Ciri is so easy, he wonders how she manages to be so talkative and quick with her mouth while Geralt sometimes seems to struggle stringing together a three-word sentence. They may not be related by blood, but they were raised by the same person, after all.

Geralt just sits in his corner and watches them, but the corners of his mouth are pulled up into the tiniest little smile. He looks content to just stare at Jaskier and Ciri bickering together as if they’re old friends.

\---

Geralt still hasn’t quite recovered from waking up with his arms around Jaskier yet. He isn’t usually so clingy, he really isn’t, but he’s just so drawn to Jaskier, has been from the first time they met, really, that it was kinda bound to happen. He doesn’t even have anyone to blame but himself, he suggested sharing a bed after all. He just hopes that this won’t make things awkward between him and Jaskier, he really likes his new friend and doesn’t want to ruin that with his dumb attraction.

After seeing Jaskier so ready to fuck some stranger last night, he’s pretty sure that the flirting they’ve been doing doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s just how Jaskier is, loud and cheeky and so open, wearing his big heart on his sleeve. He sighs.

Ciri keeps shooting him looks from where she’s standing at the kitchen counter, making pancakes from scratch after going through all the cabinets as if she owns this place. He envies her lack of awkwardness and respect for privacy. Maybe, if he was a bit more like that, he could just tell Jaskier that he likes him, they could kiss, maybe fuck, and then continue being friends, because Jaskier obviously doesn’t want a relationship, and especially not with him.

Before he can continue marinating in self pity, though, Jaskier enters the room. His hair is still damp from the shower and he’s dressed in yoga pants and a ridiculous bright pink shirt with the words “art thou nasty?” written across it. It’s… not as fashionable as Jaskier’s usual looks by far but a good match for his personality, Geralt decides.

He steals a pancake from his stack, and suddenly he’s bickering with Ciri, and they’re both laughing, and Geralt can’t help but smile like some lovesick idiot. Watching the two of them together is just… nice. He likes that they get along, that Jaskier can make Ciri happy without any real effort. Also, that Ciri approves of Jaskier, because really, she’s good at judging people’s characters. Not that he doubted Jaskier, the man is pure sunshine.

His thoughts are interrupted by Jaskier setting the table in front of him. He feels awkward once more – first inviting himself over, then the cuddling, then his sister going through the cabinets, and now he’s being served breakfast without contributing anything.

“Can I help somehow?”, he asks, though he kinda doubts it. 

“Nah, just sit back and relax. See it as payment for the ride home, or something”, Jaskier replies. Geralt manages to stay put but relaxing just isn’t his thing.

“Do you want coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee, please”, he replies, sounding overwhelmed even to himself. Jaskier is spoiling him.

Ciri shoots him another one of her looks, clearly trying very hard not to laugh at his discomfort. He can’t bring himself to even glare at her, though, not when Jaskier is pushing a cup into his hands while she finishes the final pancake before moving the concerningly high stack to the small table.

“Thanks for making breakfast”, he says instead.

“Oh, I didn’t do it for you. Jaskier promised me pancakes, but he was taking forever in the shower and I was starving, so I made them for myself. You’re just lucky that I’m sharing.”

“Would you prefer it if I still smelled like sweat and strawberry vodka? Because that’s what you would’ve gotten without that shower.”

“Ugh, gross”, Ciri wrinkles her nose at Jaskier’s words and Geralt can only chuckle.

“It wasn’t that bad. Either way, I’m glad I’m getting pancakes. Feels like a proper lazy Sunday morning”, he chimes in.

Breakfast – or maybe he should call it lunch, really, the clock on the wall lets him know that it’s almost 2pm – passes quickly, filled with light-hearted chatter. Ciri had the mind to text Vesemir that she’s with Geralt before he can do something stupid like calling the cops and tell them that she’s gone missing, and Geralt is grateful that she’s considerate like that. It’s been a few years too many since he had to tell anyone where he was to remember stuff like that; it’s just not something you still do as an adult living alone.

Eventually, Jaskier proclaims that he has to train. Geralt expects this to be a polite way of telling them to fuck off.

Instead, Jaskier smiles his blinding smile and asks if they want to join him. Geralt cannot say no to him like this, and anyway, Sunday is their usual aerial silk lesson. He’s slowly getting a bit better, though he still feels like an elephant compared to Jaskier. At least he gets to be up in the air as if he’s weightless, and Jaskier is a patient enough teacher.

Ciri just takes one look at him, sees how far gone he is for a man he can’t have, and, instead of taking pity and telling them that she wants to go home, agrees.

“Sounds fun, I’m in. Besides, I can’t pass up the chance to watch Geralt trying to be graceful!”, she says, a wicked grin on her face.

She ends up almost as graceless and way more exhausted than him, barely able to hold onto him anymore when he finally drives her home in the evening. 

The second she’s inside Vesemir’s house and all distractions are gone, all he can think about is how it felt to wake up with Jaskier’s body pressed against his. It’s what he thinks about the whole way to his apartment, and while he takes a shower to wash off the last night and today’s exercise, and when he falls into his own bed. It feels cold and empty in comparison, and he wants Jaskier to be here with him.

When he finally falls asleep, his dreams are filled with Jaskier, too, though they’re decidedly filthier than a harmless cuddle. He wakes up with some truly impressive morning wood and knows that he’s utterly fucked. He’s crushing way too hard on Jaskier, and there’s nothing he can do about it besides jerking off to the memory of his slender body against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is a dumbass. So is Jaskier. maybe I should tag it idiots in love, because really, that's what they are


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys, before you read the new chapter, please TAKE A LOOK AT THE FANART MY ROOMMATE MADE FOR THIS because I'm legit crying it's so good. you can see it on their [ Tumblr ](https://sad-comet.tumblr.com/post/618381141693595648/fanart-for-this-fantastic-poledance-au-fanfic) or on their [ Instagram ](https://www.instagram.com/p/CAS9BvJFYL8/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)

After yet another night of dreams filled with Jaskier – naked, his flexible body pliable under Geralt’s hands – meeting him again at class on Tuesday is sort of anticlimactic. There’s no lingering touches, only a brief hug and a kiss on his cheek as a greeting, something he’s grown used to over the past few weeks. It’s just another bit of Jaskier being friendly – he’s seen him do the same with Yennefer and Triss. At least things aren’t awkward between them after waking up in a mess of tangled limbs, so really, he should be grateful for that, but.

But now that he knows what it feels like to hold Jaskier in his arms, he want to have that again, and that fantasy opens the floodgates for a billion other Jaskier-related day dreams. Getting ice cream together, but like, as a date. Holding hands, and kissing, and being able to call him his boyfriend, maybe introducing him to his family. 

It’s all he can think about when he watches Jaskier do the next bit of the choreography they’re all learning. The steps are all easy and beginner friendly, and by now Geralt can do most of them sort of well enough, but none of them seem to stick in his brain right now, because how is he supposed to comprehend anything when Jaskier is looking radiant, if slightly tired at the end of the day, his smile still beaming and his smooth voice always ready to praise his students when they get something right. He almost falls several times – not even from the pole, he’s just tripping over his own feet because he’s so inattentive – and Jaskier shoots him a worried glance, but doesn’t draw attention to it, because of course he doesn’t. He’s to nice to say anything about someone having a bad day in front of the class.

At least time passes quickly when you’re distracted. Geralt feels like it’s only been a few minutes since they started when Jaskier starts to talk them through a small cool down and ushers the class out of his studio as politely as possible.

“Geralt, do you have a minute?”, he calls after him before he can leave, though.

Geralt almost dies, because while they usually chat for a few minutes before and after classes, it just happens naturally, once he’s changed clothes and everyone else has left. There’s no need for being specifically asked to stay behind. This can’t be good, he just hopes that it isn’t related to Sunday.

He realizes that he never actually replied, but he’s still standing right there, in the middle of the studio, now alone with Jaskier, which is probably answer enough if he combines it with a ‘hmm’, so that’s what he does.

“Right, cool, I just wanted to give you a heads up, I don’t think I’ll have as much time on Sundays anymore. We can still train for now, I guess, but one of my trainers got injured and until I find a replacement I’ll pick up some of her classes, so I’ll be here on Sunday evenings, and not with you to have dinner. Maybe we can make up for it somehow? I’ll figure out what my new schedule with the added classes looks like, and then I’ll let you know when I can make time for you…”

Jaskier is rambling, and not quite meeting his gaze, and he looks all around unhappy with the situation. Geralt can’t help but think that maybe things are awkward between them after all, that maybe Jaskier is, in fact, uncomfortable now, after the cuddling and the being taken home drunk and the Geralt inviting himself over like some asshole bullshit. He can’t blame him, he’s not sure if he would react any different if their roles were reversed.

It still hurts, though. It feels like rejection, like Jaskier being tired of him, like not wanting to be close anymore. It hurts, but he understands that perhaps he’s not what Jaskier wants, never has been and never will be, and it’s on him that he’s been jerking off to the thought of cuddling like some lovesick teenager. None of this is Jaskier’s fault.

“Alright, sure. Thanks for letting me know in advance”, he mumbles, trying not to sound like a kicked puppy and mostly succeeding in sounding fairly neutral, before he turns to leave. Better go now before he can say something he’ll regret later, something ridiculous like asking for reassurance or begging Jaskier to let him stay. It’s beneath him, and would only make both of them feel worse.

On his ride home he realizes that maybe, just leaving was actually worse, because maybe, just maybe, Jaskier really does need to fill in for some other trainer at his studio. The voice that suggests that sounds suspiciously like the therapist he saw briefly in his teens when he got into so many fights with his classmates that Vesemir had to do something about it. The therapist who had told him that he pushes people away because he’s afraid of rejection, which she had promptly linked to Geralt’s parents abandoning him. It’s a voice of reason and logic, but right now, he doesn’t think he can trust it. He doesn’t dare to hope that Jaskier of all people could want more from him, because having that hope crushed by someone else would be so much worse than just doing it himself.

That night, he’s blissfully freed from any more horny dreams, mostly because he doesn’t sleep a lot to begin with. He doesn’t think he could stomach waking up with his body longing for Jaskier while his brain is running in circles trying to determine whether or not the man hates him or is simply even busier than usually, but waking up every couple of hours only to find that it’s still dark outside and he’s still not feeling any more rested isn’t much better.

Some of his worry is eased the next morning when Jaskier puts him out of his misery with a simple text message. It was sent at 3am, why on earth was Jaskier still awake at three in the morning Geralt doesn’t want to know, and after a short second in which he worries that it’s more bad news, he opens it.

‘Hey Geralt, hope you have your phone muted at night, if not, I’m sorry. My new schedule is crazy and I’m going to die, but if Thursday night after class works for you, we can grab dinner then? Either way, see you Thursday!’

It makes the anxious voice inside his head shut up for the moment, because this is Jaskier obviously trying to make time for him. Maybe cancelling their Sunday dinners is not a soft rejection, a nice way of telling him that training together is okay, but they’re training buddies, no more and no less. 

He’s been anxious about nothing, as usually. He sighs, gets up and makes himself some coffee while wondering if he’ll ever learn that not all people hate him and want to get rid of him. It took him years to trust that Vesemir would actually keep him after being adopted, and sometimes he still has the urge to ask the man if he regrets it, and it’s dumb, but he can’t help it. At least he’s become better at believing people when they reassure him over time, though he still hardly lets anyone get too close. It’s what makes Jaskier special, and also so much scarier – they may not talk about anything too personal yet, but he cares about Jaskier, and he wants to feel like Jaskier cares about him, too.

With his mind a bit calmer and one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, he gets out his phone once more and stares at Jaskier’s text, something he’s done way, way too much recently.

The issue is that Thursday nights aren’t technically free, it’s the night that he spends with Vesemir and his siblings. He can miss that once, maybe twice, before Lambert will become unbearably rude, Eskel will worry and Ciri is going to move in with him because she misses him. Vesemir will blow up his phone even before that. But… if Jaskier really just needs to find a replacement, then maybe once or twice will be enough, and then they can go back to Sunday dinners and everything will work out somehow. He sighs, thinks about it some more, and finally texts back.

‘Sure, can’t become a regular thing but I can make it work this week. See you tomorrow!’

It takes maybe three seconds before he gets a reply, and the text makes him smile like an idiot while also bringing back all his anxieties at once.

‘Great, it’s a date!’

\---

After the accidental sleepover, Jaskier’s life is escalating rapidly in all possible ways, none of which are related to his love life. Monday morning, one of his trainers calls him because she got injured and is currently at the hospital, thus unable to teach. Usually, that wouldn’t be a big issue, but someone else is already on parental leave, so all of his trainers are already teaching extra classes as is and until he can find someone new to help out, almost the entire class load from his injured colleague will end up being his job.

On top of that, both competition season and pride month are approaching fast, and with that planning his trips, helping out with organizing the pride in his own town, applying for pole conventions and championships and, in theory, extra training – for which he has neither the time nor the energy while teaching so. Many. Classes.

Needless to say, he’s stressed. It breaks his heart but the first thing he can cut short – or almost out, really – is his private life. No more clubbing with friends, no more movie nights with Yennefer and Triss, and no more Sunday dinners with Geralt because of course Sunday night is now filled with not one but two exotic pole classes. He hates exotic pole with a deep and burning passion simply because wearing high heels while dancing is barbaric, especially when you’re not used to it, and he’s not looking forward to the blisters he’ll undoubtedly gain from this, if he doesn’t break his ankles first.

By Tuesday evening, he’s already tired, but he can still push through it. However, when he tells Geralt that he can’t have dinner with him this week – or any week for the forseeable future, really, who knows how long this will take – Geralt looks so defeated that he needs to do something about it. He wants to spend time with Geralt, after all, time that isn’t filled with training. He can find an hour or two, sometime during the week, he’s sure. He has to, because not having at least that suddenly sounds terrible not only because Geralt looks Like That™ but also because he doesn’t want to miss it.

He ends up finally writing a detailed schedule later that night. All of his classes, office hours, training, sleep, lunch breaks. It’s overwhelming, and he knows he cannot possibly keep this up for more than a few weeks without losing his mind and burning out, but until he finds someone to at least pick up some of the classes there’s nothing he can do about this.

At least, having all of this laid out in front of him makes it possible to see when he could potentially squeeze some quality Geralt time in. It’s either during the morning hours, but he knows that Geralt is at work then, or Thursday evening instead of doing his own training. It’s not ideal, but he’ll take what he can get. Jaskier just hopes that Geralt is actually free, then, too, because if not, he’s pretty much fucked. 

He texts him right away and promptly falls asleep at his desk a second later.

\---

When Geralt comes into class on Thursday, Jaskier looks noticeably more tired than he did two days ago. If Geralt had any doubts about Jaskier’s excuse before, they melt away instantly and then turn into concern and worry when he realizes that Jaskier isn’t doing the full routine with them, instead just showing them what to do and observing, clearly saving his energy. Jaskier has never done that before, he’s always so energetic, and seeing him like that makes Geralt want to take him into his arms and fight off anyone who makes Jaskier work so much that he can’t do the warmup for his beginner class anymore. He suspects that the person who overworks Jaskier is Jaskier himself, though, so it doesn’t sound like a promising plan.

He feels a bit guilty for still wanting to spend time with Jaskier so badly but he’s glad that he’s important enough to him that he’s even suggested finding a different time for their dinner dates when Jaskier could just use that time to go to bed very, very early. He looks like he could use a long night of sleep, or at the very least a good nap.

Instead, Geralt takes him to a new, kind of hipster looking place that sells poke bowls, because while it’s not his favorite, he thinks Jaskier might like it. Jaskier is a bit quieter than usual, which means Geralt has to make more of an effort to actually contribute to their conversation, but it’s a small price to pay for a comfortable evening, especially when Jaskier rests his head on his shoulder later that night and hugs him a bit closer than usually when they finally say goodbye.

Back home, his mind is still filled with Jaskier, boneless and slumped against his side at the restaurant, tiredness radiating off of him in waves, but still there, still listening intently to what Geralt told him, still offering his own opinions and stories despite being exhausted.

Geralt decides that he’ll have to be extra nice to Jaskier for that, especially after thinking that the man hates him for several hours. Jaskier is sacrificing resting time that he obviously needs to meet him, and Geralt is determined to make it up to him somehow. To take care of him.

Granted, there isn’t a whole lot he can do without demanding even more of Jaskier’s precious time, so he’ll have to settle for small things. 

Which is how he decides to text him a simple good night message before he goes to bed, and, when he wakes up, a good morning one.

Jaskier replies a few hours later, rambling about his morning like he’d do whenever they’re talking face to face, and it warms something deep inside Geralt’s chest.

\---

Jaskier feels like he might be dying soon. It’s been two weeks and he still hasn’t found anyone to take over most of the classes he’s teaching right now. He’s been able to get one of his more experienced students to teach two of the beginner classes, but the extra time he gets from two classes is barely anything compared to what he still has to do himself. Still, he’s grateful to her.

On top of that, he hasn’t really seen anyone just for fun in almost three weeks, even his Sundays with Geralt cut short and reduced to training, more focused and efficient than before and lacking the dinner date that used to follow. It’s gruelling, he has blisters from the stupid exotic dance classes he has to teach, everything is sore, and for the first time in years he loathes dancing. He keeps reminding himself that this is what he wanted, this is his dream, and it will be dreamy once more as soon as he isn’t working for two people. The other thing that keeps him going is spite – both knowing that Valdo fucking Marx qualified for world’s, so there’s no way in hell he won’t be there, too, to destroy his nemesis, and that his parent’s hate that he’s successful with his pole dancing are great motivators.

What makes his life sort of bearable is Geralt. He’s at even more of his classes now, and they’re texting almost every day, short messages exchanged in the few spare minutes Jaskier gets – sitting in the bus on his way home, eating dinner, sitting on the toilet in the morning, occasionally even while he’s stretching, all perfect texting opportunities.

It’s what keeps him sane and grounded in reality. Waking up to a simple ‘good morning, hope you got some sleep. Remember to get breakfast, see you at class tonight’ improves his whole day marginally, because now he knows that he’ll see Geralt later, and maybe get five minutes to chat, and it’s something really nice to look forward to. Listening to a voice message of Geralt telling him about his day, interrupted by Ciri or who he assumes to be Geralt’s brothers in the background who are adding details because Geralt has a tendency to leave all the non-essential but entertaining aspects out, makes him smile through another hour of work, not to mention the stupid butterflies in his stomach that Geralt’s ridiculously deep voice gives him.

(Yennefer, of course, is looking after him, too, but she’s drowning in pride preparations and work herself while also living with her girlfriend, who rightfully demands the bits and pieces of free time she gets. Jaskier knows that she’s trying to make time to call him, just as he is trying to make time for her, it’s just not something that always works out, and that’s okay.)

His phone buzzes and he can’t resist unlocking it to read the message he received – the only two people who aren’t on silent at the moment are Yennefer and Geralt, and he’d much rather read another insult from Yen than train right now.

It’s from Geralt.

‘Hey Jask, I’ve been skipping family dinners the past two weeks and I don’t think I can skip another one to hang out this Thursday without Vesemir kidnapping me and locking me in my childhood bedroom.’

Jaskier is torn between being delighted at the relatively new nickname or crushed from the actual message, when he realizes that Geralt is still typing. He starts to stretch while he waits for Geralt, who’s proven himself to be a terribly slow texter. The man blames it on his bigger hands, but honestly, Jaskier just thinks he’s not good with words and takes forever to formulate a message worth sending, not typing it out. What he finally gets, though, is worth waiting.

‘HOWEVER, I talked with Vesemir, and he says I could just bring you along. If that’s too many people or too awkward for you, that’s understandable, but both Ciri and I would love to have you.’

It feels like he’s been invited to meet his boyfriend’s parents, which is odd, because he’s not dating Geralt. They’re still very platonic friends, even if Jaskier can’t stop himself from being as touchy as he can be without making Geralt uncomfortable, because he’s weak. He thinks about it for a second before texting back.

‘That sounds lovely, I haven’t had a family dinner in ages. Can’t wait to finally put faces to all the stories I’ve heard about Eskel and Lambert.’

He hits send before he can regret this and just prays that family dinners with Geralt’s family are nicer than the ones he’s used to. He doesn’t think he can take a night of strangers fighting right in front of him without crying right now, but from the way Ciri and Geralt talk about the rest of their family, he figures it won’t be anything like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that you can still find me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com) too


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating, I got a bit side tracked with a longish oneshot I'm working on, but here's the next chapter!
> 
> Also, I think there will only be one more chapter before this is done, maybe two if it turns out too long. We'll see. I promise there will be a happy ending and they will figure out there feelings in the next chapter(s).

Thursday comes way to quickly, and Jaskier is nervous. He’s not a family person, he’s been forcibly removed from the house of not only his own parent’s but also other people’s parent’s properties before – he can’t help it, they just say something hurtful to his friends, or something blatantly homophobic, or otherwise terrible, and he’s immediately ready to throw fists, or, at the very least, words. 

He doesn’t want to fuck this up, though, because Geralt speaks so fondly of the man who took him in, and his brothers, and Ciri is happy there, too. It’s a lot of pressure for a dinner with your friend’s family, really. The last time he was so stressed about meeting someone’s family he was at least dating that person.

Then again, his friendship with Geralt kind of feels more like they’re dating already than his past few relationships ever did. They’re texting whenever they can, Jaskier drapes himself all over the man whenever he gets the chance, they hug and, now that Jaskier is too tired to make enough noise for both of them, Geralt is picking up the slack, which results in surprisingly deep, nice conversations. By now, Jaskier is almost certain that Geralt is at least a little bit into him – and inviting him to a family dinner just so they won’t have to skip one week of dining together, even when they see each other during class anyway, just fuels Jaskier’s hopes.

He doesn’t get a chance to chat with Geralt before class this time, but he keeps shooting him looks throughout the whole thing, mostly to get some sort of reassurance out of seeing Geralt returning his gaze with that tiny little smile that he does when he’s looking but doesn’t want Jaskier to know about it. It doesn’t really do much to ease his nerves but it’s nice regardless, knowing that Geralt looks at him like that.

Class passes way too quickly, and suddenly he’s alone with Geralt and the prospect of meeting his family. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to smile at the man – it’s not all that hard; despite his nervousness Geralt just makes him smile by existing.

“I’ll go take a shower real quick and then we can go?”, he offers, because he doesn’t want to be late, but he also doesn’t want to smell like several hours of exercise and liquid chalk. It’s just not a good first impression, and he desperately needs this to go well for some reason.

“I promised to help cook this week, but you have the address, you can just join us when you’re ready. It’s not like we can share a ride anyway, I doubt you’d like to leave your car here and I definitely won’t leave Roach behind.”

Geralt is right, and Jaskier hates that, because then they won’t even arrive together, he’ll just be some stranger ringing at this family’s door asking to join their dinner. There’s not much to be done about it, though, so he just nods.

“Right. Right, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“It’s going to be fine, Jask. Just, take a deep breath and try to relax, alright? If you hate my family you can always leave, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Jaskier lets out a humourless chuckle. “I’m not worried about me not liking them, I’m worried about them hating me, Geralt. I appreciate the attempt at a pep talk, though. Now go cook dinner for me.”

“They’ll love you. Just. Trust me?”, Geralt looks unsure, as if he’s asking for too much, before he finally turns around and leaves.

Jaskier takes a few deep breathes before finally getting ready. Taking a shower and putting on fresh clothes only takes a few minutes, and even the hot water does little to drown out his anxieties, though it does wonders to relax his sore muscles. Sooner than he’d like he’s in his ratty little car, letting his phone navigate him to the address Geralt gave him until he’s in front of a reasonably sized house with a garden. Even though Ciri is currently the youngest of Vesemir’s children, there’s a swing hanging from a tree that looks so clean that it’s obviously well used. He wonders which one of them is responsible for that.

Before he can change his mind and just run away, he forces himself to walk up the few stairs to the door and ring the bell. It takes maybe half a second before it’s pulled open with so much force that it bangs against the wall in the hallway. It’s not Geralt who’s standing behind it, though; instead, there’s a younger man with short, dark hair. Probably Lambert; Eskel and Geralt are the same age as far as he remembers. He’s almost as broad as Geralt, maybe a bit shorter, and he’s scowling at Jaskier while he stares him down. His arms are folded firmly in front of his chest, but finally he meets Jaskier’s eyes.

“So you’re the reason I haven’t seen my brother in two weeks.”, he finally says, more accusation than greeting. Ah, so that’s what Geralt was talking about when he said that Lambert was the resident asshole. Well, two could play that game.

“Not my fault that I make for better company. Maybe if you improved your manners a little…”, he trails off, still keeping eye contact with Lambert.

So much for making a good first impression, being rude right back might not be the smartest move for this, but Jaskier can’t help it. He’s just a little confrontational by nature. Lambert just raises an eyebrow at him, almost seeming impressed, before he grins and steps aside to let Jaskier in. It feels like he passed some sort of test or solved the sphinx’ riddle.

“Geralt is in the kitchen down the hall.”, he says before disappearing through another door.

Jaskier lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware the was holding, toes off his shoes and follows the ambient chatter and the smell of food until he’s standing in a kitchen that is probably very reasonably sized, but looks terribly crowded with three bulky men in it. Ciri is sitting on the kitchen counter, stealing food from a basket when the others turn to face him, only giving him a small wave around a mouthful of bread. 

“Jaskier! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Geralt has told us so much about you in the past few weeks!”, the older man whose hands are elbow deep in a bowl filled with some sort of dough – most likely Vesemir – tells him, his voice booming through the room. “I’d greet you properly, but I don’t think you want that right now.”

There’s flour on his forehead, and in his grey hair, and he looks like everyone’s grandpa, expect he’s sort of ripped, which shouldn’t surprise Jaskier, because he knows that the man is a martial arts instructor, and yet.

Before he can get a closer look at who has to be Eskel, Geralt is right in front of him and pulling him into a hug.

“Glad you’re here”, he mumbles into his ear before letting go, and it’s perhaps one of the first times that it’s Geralt who’s initiated a hug, so all Jaskier can do is stare helplessly at him. Geralt steps back again way too soon for Jaskier, which means their embrace lasted only a little too long to be comfortable and friendly for most straight men, but they weren’t straight so this was still just a friendly greeting, presumably.

“Where else would I be?”, Jaskier asks when he comes to again. 

“I don’t know, I was just worried you wouldn’t come.”

They’re interrupted by Eskel, suddenly reminding Jaskier that he’s in Vesemir’s kitchen with four other people.

“Stop hogging the newcomer, Geralt, the man deserves a tour through the house.”, he pushes Geralt aside as if it was easy to just move that mountain of a man. Considering that Eskel is yet another incredibly buff guy, it might actually be easy for him.

“Geralt will not leave this kitchen until the bread rolls are filled and in the oven!”, Vesemir chimes in.

“Aw what a shame, guess that gives me some time to get to know Geralt’s boyfriend all on my own!” Eskel doesn’t sound like he’s sad about it at all, but Jaskier can’t quite process anything because he’s choking on his own spit.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Oh, how he wishes Eskel was right.

Geralt isn’t doing anything to correct Eskel, though, maybe he just hasn’t noticed it, being an oblivious oaf once again.

“We’re not dating”, Jaskier forces himself to say, even if he doesn’t want to. Here, in the slightly ugly, crowded family kitchen, being Geralt’s boyfriend seems like a plausible possibility, something that’s achievable rather than just a dream that Jaskier’s lifestyle makes unattainable.

“Sure, whatever you say”, Eskel replies, his face making it obvious that he doesn’t believe Jaskier. He doesn’t know how to correct him again without breaking his own heart so he just accepts his fate for now.

Eskel goes on to drag him through the house, mostly showing him their garden, until Vesemir calls them back inside to set the table. Jaskier is simply roped into helping out in a way that feels almost too natural. He’s always been good at talking, and he joins the dinner conversations easily. 

It’s overwhelming, in a way. Everyone is so clearly fond of each other, and though there’s a lot of bickering between siblings, it’s obvious that deep down, they are all happy to be here. Jaskier hadn’t known that family dinners could be like this, without insults disguised as compliments or friendly advice, without trying to get some advantage for yourself out of everything you do or say. The worst thing at this dinner is that Eskel, Lambert and Ciri seem to be convinced that he’s dating Geralt, and they keep making odd little comments about it. Not in a homophobic way, just in a ‘we’re siblings so teasing Geralt is our day job’ way.

Geralt, once again, keeps him grounded through the evening, though – not by doing anything, it’s just that the dining table is slightly too small for four burly men, Ciri and another guest, so Geralt’s thigh is pressed against his throughout the whole dinner out of necessity. It’s nice, but Jaskier doesn’t dare to focus too much on it. His head is still filled with boyfriend thoughts.

It’s all he can think about when Geralt hugs him goodbye later that night, holding him just a little too tight and a little too close for friends, and it’s still not enough for Jaskier. He wants to kiss Geralt, and at this point he’s sure that it sort of shows, because his gaze keeps flickering between Geralt’s eyes and his lips while they just stand on the front porch, arms still loosely wrapped around each other because neither of them wants to let go.

“About what Eskel said earlier…”, Geralt finally says, and, oh, Jaskier feels like he might die. He’s so not ready for this conversation.

Because the truth is, he’s still hard to date, and Geralt might only be into him because he’s the first gay man who’s been flirting with him for a prolonged period of time, like, ever in his life, and Geralt is lonely and needs someone in his life.

“What about it?”, he says, his tone as dismissive as he can. It sounds false even to his own ears and his heart hurts, wants Geralt to see through the lie.

Geralt’s face falls and he looks so sad and hurt and Jaskier knows that this is his fault, he said the wrong thing, and he wants to fix it. He wants Geralt to be all comfortable smiles and small giggles and teasing remarks again, as comfortable with him as he is with his siblings.

He’s not thinking clearly, and later, he’d beat himself up for this – for allowing their first kiss to be like that – but the only solution his brain can come up with is leaning forward and placing a short, tender kiss on Geralt’s lips. Geralt is frozen for a moment, and Jaskier worries that maybe, he’s been reading the whole situation wrong, maybe Geralt isn’t into him at all and uncomfortable that Eskel would ever suggest such a thing, but then he’s kissing back.

It doesn’t last long, and it’s not perfect, neither of them sure how much is too much, but it leaves Jaskier breathless nonetheless. He finally steps back, head overflowing with everything. It’s all a bit too much, and he has the urge to run, but Geralt’s hands are still on his hips, and he’s smiling at him, looking a little bit lost. Jaskier wants to tell him then and there that he’d like to date him, that he’s been nurturing a crush into full on falling in love ever since they first met, that he wants them to be a thing, but –

But Geralt deserves better. Someone who can be a stable constant in his life. Someone who can be with him for more than maybe a few hours a week, if that, sometimes for months at a time. Someone who’s willing to stop sleeping with every pretty man he sees and build a life together.

Jaskier is not that man, and pretending he was would only hurt them both more in the long run.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I should go.”

He doesn’t look back when he leaves, too scared to see Geralt’s expression. The second he’s in his car he turns up the volume of his music to drown out his self-hatred as much as he can until he gets home, where he curls up in his bed and cries about his own stupidity.

The next day, he throws himself into his work with everything he has. If he’s not capable of having a decent private life, he can at least be the best dancer and teacher he could ever be. Besides, it’s hard to feel much besides a dull ache in his body and bone deep tiredness when your whole world narrows down to just dance.

\---

Geralt is staring at the space in front of him that Jaskier had occupied for a long time after he left. His eyes are burning, and he wants to cry, he really does, but the tears just don’t come. It’s Eskel who finally comes to find him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. For a moment Geralt wants to shrug it off, but then he leans into his brother’s touch and the tears begin to fall.

He doesn’t even know what he did wrong. He’s been trying so hard not to overstep any of Jaskier’s boundaries, to make sure that they’re friends first and foremost, and hadn’t dared to hope when Jaskier flirted with him. And somehow, he still got to his heart broken after their very first kiss.

It takes Ciri and Eskel’s combined efforts to finally get him to talk, all three of them curled up in his childhood bedroom on the way too small single bed. It’s dark in the room, none of them willing to get up to turn on the light, and Ciri is fast asleep besides him despite making her very best effort to stay awake when Geralt is finally done talking, his voice interrupted by more crying ever so often. He’s told them – or mostly Eskel, considering Ciri’s state – about every single date and little hopeful thought he’s had with Jaskier in the past few weeks, months, almost, as well as the embarrassing jerking off to the memories of cuddling part and their terrible first kiss just now. He figures that when he’s already hit rock bottom, there’s no reason to gloss over the shameful details, especially not with Eskel, who’s seen Geralt do much worse throughout their youth.

“I’m so sorry, man, I thought you were already dating… and I kept making comments all throughout dinner because I thought you might crack and just admit it, and I probably made Jaskier and you uncomfortable as fuck with that”,Eskel finally says into the darkness.

Geralt just sighs. “It’s not your fault that I fell for someone who probably doesn’t feel more than friendship and maybe, if I’m lucky, some sort of physical attraction to me.”

Eskel makes a noise that he can’t interpret, but it’s not like he’s trying very hard. Crying has left him feeling hollow, his heart ache dulled into something almost bearable from exhaustion.

“I don’t think that’s the issue. Geralt, the way he looks at you, it’s not just lust he’s feeling. Have you two idiots tried to actually talk about your feelings and relationship expectations?”

Geralt grunts. He can’t risk to hope again, not tonight, though what Eskel says does make some sense, he supposes. Right now, he needs to sleep, and then go to work, and then he can face whatever emotional mess this thing between Jaskier and him has become.

“Right, I’ll let you brood in peace, but tomorrow we’ll look for a more productive way to handle the situation.”

It sounds like a threat to Geralt, but he can’t really complain, so he huffs instead. The mattress shifts beneath him when Eskel gets up, and then again when he picks Ciri up as if she was a ragdoll.

“Try to get some sleep, Geralt. Staying up all night overthinking won’t help anyone.”

He doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep anytime soon, but he appreciates the sentient, as well as Eskel simply staying here with him even though he doesn’t even have his own room at this house anymore and will have to either drive home now or sleep in the guest room. Probably the latter, considering the time. It’s awfully nice of him to take Ciri to her own bed, too, so Geralt at least has the tiny bed to himself and won’t worry about falling out or pushing Ciri aside while he sleeps.

“Thanks, Eskel. Sleep well”, he manages to say before Eskel is out the door.

“Anytime. Now sleep, I’ll wake you up for work tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for ending it this way. I do have a plan to make these idiots talk out their issues, I promise you won't have to wait long, it will get better, please bear with me


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god guys I'm sorry that it took so long but! it's done! we did it!
> 
> If you want to know why this took forever i was an idiot and gave myself writer's block by starting a new thing, then feeling guilty for working on the new thing instead of this fic and ultimately feeling bad no matter what project i was working on... yeah, I'm as much of an idiot as these two dumbasses...

Jaskier lasts three (admittedly very productive) days before he has a break down like he hadn’t since his early twenties. It doesn’t help that it’s Sunday morning and for the first time in more than two months Geralt isn’t visiting him.

He’s been switching between blankly staring at his ceiling while hating himself for being such a childish asshole to Geralt instead of explaining himself and crying hysterically because Geralt isn’t here right now nor is it likely that he’ll be back in the future for the last three hours. Between that, he comes to the conclusion that there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to teach a class that afternoon, so he cancels it. He can count the amount of classes he’s had to cancel in his life on one hand; usually he’d push through or find someone who could jump in, but right now he doesn’t feel like he’s capable of calling someone to ask to cover for him. It only serves to make him feel worse – failing at both his personal and professional life at once is unacceptable, but he’s physically unable to stop crying.

At some point his phone starts ringing. Jaskier just curls up tighter in his bed, whoever it is, now isn’t the time. It keeps ringing, though, and whoever it is is insistent enough to call a second time, and then a third, and then Jaskier has had enough and reaches out to turn his phone off. He just cannot be bothered to interact with the world right now.

He’s crying again – or still, who knows? – when his doorbell rings. He hopes that it’s just a package, and by the time he gets downstairs to open the door, the mailman will be gone, because he cannot really be seen like this. Nonetheless, he wraps his blanket around himself like it’s armor that will protect him from the rest of the world and hobbles down the stairs, still sniffling. It’s a small miracle that he doesn’t slip and break his neck; he can’t really move his legs in the blanket and his sight is so blurry from the tears that he can’t exactly make out the stair steps beneath him, either, but somehow he arrives at the door in one piece. Whoever is in front of it has not left; instead, there’s an unrelenting ringing every couple of seconds that’s grating on Jaskier’s already frail nerves and worsens his headache significantly. He frees one hand from his cocoon, careful not to drop his blanket, and opens the door barely wide enough to stick his head out.

Yennefer is standing in front of him, scowling. Pity flashes over her face for half a second when she sees him – still sniffling, hair sticking up whatever which way, eyes red and swollen from crying and with dark circles beneath them from a lack of sleep the past few weeks, really, through the last two nights were even worse.

“You look like shit.”, she grumbles and pushes him inside with ease, following him through the door. Jaskier doesn’t reply, because he knows, but also, he cannot bring himself to care about his appearance right now. For once, there’s more important things in his life, like being sad, and moping, and wallowing in self-pity like an overgrown teenager.

He can’t really tell Yennefer that in his hallway, though, so he just stares blankly at her and tries not to cry again, because his head really, really hurts from sobbing so much and he hasn’t really gotten around to drinking anything besides the glass of water he keeps on his nightstand all day. Some part of him believes that if he just continues not to drink, he’ll shrivel up like a dried fig soon.

“Come on Jask, into the living room, I’ll get us both some tea and then I’ll be right with you. Shoo!”, she half shoves him, half waves him through his own house. He complies, there’s no point in resisting Yen on a good day and today is a terrible day, but Yen might make it a tiny bit better if he lets her do her thing. Besides, he has a couch in the living room where he can curl up again, only this time he might be able to curl up around a cup of tea, which makes the whole thing a bit less pathetic and slightly more comfortable.

Yennefer returns a minute later with two cups of tea and a water glass that’s half-filled with something that’s either iced tea or whiskey. She sits down next to him and takes a sip without wrinkling her face in disgust, so it’s probably whiskey. One of the cups is shoved between his arms and legs so he’s properly curled around it without having to move himself at all, then Yen knocks back the remaining whiskey all at once, grabs her own cup and pulls her feet up on his couch.

“So, care to tell me why you cried for what looks like hours and cancelled your class?”, she finally asks when it becomes evident that Jaskier won’t start talking without being prompted.

Jaskier doesn’t particularly feel up for voicing his emotions just yet, because really, why is he crying? He’s the bad guy who hurt poor Geralt, he’s not the one who’s supposed to cry here. He could’ve done things differently, like not fucking kissing Geralt out of nowhere without considering what would follow after. He handled the whole thing terribly, and Yennefer will have his head for it, as if he isn’t beating himself up about this enough already. Maybe he can convince her that it’s nothing serious and just watch some dumb shit on TV with her for the rest of the day before going back to feeling guilty, with an extra thing to regret aka lying to Yen.

“The exhaustion from the past few weeks finally caught up with me?”, it sounds more like a question than a statement, unconvincing even to himself. Yennefer snorts.

“Oh, really? Interesting timing for a break down from stress, really, because I got a text from Ciri yesterday morning that Geralt has turned into her most useless brother over night and it’s your fault and that you owe him an apology. And I couldn’t help but feel a bit left out because my very best friend in the whole wide world would keep a fight with his unofficial boyfriend from me for several day, and then cancel his class and leave me to put the pieces together instead of just calling me and telling me that he fucked up. I can forgive you, but only because you look like you’ve done enough mental self-flagellation to satisfy me.”

Somehow, it’s a relief to know that Yennefer already knows that he fucked up, even though she has no idea how much, so he’ll have to fill her in with the details now or unleash Yennefer’s wrath upon himself.

“Ciri is right, I do owe him an apology, but what difference does it make now? I kissed him and then just ran away like some jerk, but really, what was I supposed to do? He’s not the type for a casual fling, is he? And I’m not the type for a stable, monogamous relationship, Yen, we both know I’m a slut with no free time to take Geralt out on dates and treat him the way he deserves. Right now is stressful and I barely have enough time to have friends, and when the traveling starts, it will only get worse, and he deserves someone who’s there for him year round and not just during the right seasons, someone to settle down with and, what do I know, adopt a dog or a child or whatever it is that would make him happy.”

Yennefer stares at him with an expression between disbelief and a suppressed laugh.

“Jask, darling. You idiot. You foolish fucking dumbass. Please don’t tell me that you broke my poor ex’ heart because you couldn’t be bothered to sit down with him and talk about what the two of you expect in a relationship.”

Jaskier blinks. Thinks about Yennefer’s words, then blinks again, his head suddenly empty. She’s right, he’s never actually asked Geralt about what he wants for his near future. He’s simply assumed that he’s the type to do romantic shit and value consistency without ever giving him the chance to figure out if maybe their lives were compatible after all.

It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. He can’t believe he fucked up his prospect of a maybe relationship with his stupidity like this, because he’s undeniably into Geralt, and the man seems to be more than just physically attracted to him, too, if this fucked him over bad enough that his little sister texted Yen. Suddenly he’s giggling hysterically while also crying once more. Sobbing while laughing is another terrible idea, and soon enough he’s choking on his own spit and coughing his lungs out. Yen sighs, drawn out and suffering, but pulls him into a hug and holds him through it.

It takes a few minutes, but when he’s sort of calm again, he wipes away his own tears.

“How can I fix this, Yen? I’m afraid that I really fucked up here.”

“How about you apologize, explain yourself and finally talk about what you idiots are doing dancing around each other for weeks? Who knows if anything will come out of this but – and it pains me to agree with both you and Ciri here, it really does – Geralt deserves an apology.”

“He’ll still hate me.”

Yen rolls her eyes at him. “No he won’t. He knows you had a tough couple of weeks and an overwhelming family night, so he’s probably very inclined to forgive quite a lot of bullshit. Also because he’s apparently dealing with this just as badly as you are.”

“So… I just… call him?”, he asks, because even though that’s the logical conclusion it seems like an impossible task.

“I can hold your hand through it if that helps, but how about you sort through your own feelings first? Figure out what you actually want from this, because at least one of you idiots needs some emotional awareness and it won’t be Geralt.”

\---

It’s Sunday evening when Geralt’s phone rings. It’s Jaskier, and Geralt’s first instinct is to answer immediately and cry tears of joy because Eskel was right, Jaskier does call eventually and hasn’t simply abandoned him forever. His second instinct is to throw his phone against the wall and pretend this never happened because what the fuck does Jaskier even want from him now? 

There’s only one way to find out, though, so he picks up and makes a noncommittal hum that barely passes as a greeting.

“Geralt? It’s Jaskier. Are you actually there?”

Jaskier’s voice sounds pathetic, even through the terrible quality of his phones speaker. It’s a bit rough, like he’s been crying recently, and there’s none of his usual cheerful lightness. It should be satisfying to know that Jaskier is just as miserable as he is himself, but it isn’t. He wants Jaskier to thrive even though he hurt him, and hearing him this affected by their almost fight only serves as an echo chamber to his own upset, making it worse. He can’t bring himself to be properly angry when Jaskier sounds like that.

“Yeah, I’m here”, he replies after a second.

“Good, good. Listen, I just wanted to apologize. For the kiss, and for running away afterwards, and even before that for not communicating with you properly. That was a real dick move, and you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry.” 

There’s a deep breath, audible even through his phone, as Jaskier clearly struggles to get out what he wants to say next, but Geralt is already melting, feeling the last bits of resentment slipping away. People rarely apologize to him, and when they do, it’s never like this – it’s usually ‘I’m sorry, but here are twenty reasons why I did the thing and cannot be held accountable’. Jaskier doesn’t do any of that, though Geralt is sure that he easily could – he’s been stressed and sleep deprived and overwhelmed by a family dinner, Geralt knows, all things he could’ve easily used as an excuse for his behaviour, but he doesn’t.

“I did some thinking, and I think I really like you. If you are still angry and need more time, I understand, and I’ll wait if there’s any chance that you’ll ever be able to forgive me, and fuck right off if you don’t want to see me ever again. But, as I was saying, I did some thinking, and I’d like to sit down with you and talk about our feelings, and our life styles and expectations in a relationship. And maybe that talk will result in the conclusion that we’re better off as friends, or as strangers, but maybe it won’t, and we’ll figure something out”, there’s another deep breath, and then he adds, quietly, “I’d like to figure this out with you, Geralt.”

“Me too, Jaskier”, he replies, and he’s surprised that he means it. They never actually talked about feelings, never even addressed that they woke up in a cuddly pile of limbs once, that they can’t keep their eyes off of each other even in a professional setting. And though he’s still hurt, probably will be for a while, he wants to work on fixing this mess between them, at least enough to be friends again. It’s an odd thought, because with Yen, every fight had been vicious – trying to hurt each other for the sake of causing pain and getting revenge, with an underlying eye for an eye mentality that blew even minor conflicts out of proportion. This is different, he wants a productive solution to their conflict and figure out a compromise that is acceptable for both of them. He wants to stop hurting while also not causing any more pain.

At the same time, he wants some space for himself, trying to figure out what he wants from Jaskier after this. He wants time to think about his feelings, and also talk about it with Eskel, because frankly, he’s terrible at handling emotions, especially if they’re his own.

“I accept your apology and talking things out sounds great, but I need some time first. This is all a bit much and a bit fast.”, he says, and this time, Jaskier’s sigh sounds relieved.

“That’s fair. Just, tell me when you’re ready? I’ll make time for you.”

“Okay. See you soon. And take care of yourself, Jask, you sound terrible.”

“You, too, Geralt. Thank you for giving me a chance to fix this.”

They hang up, and though it’s early and he’s mostly relieved, feeling better than the past few days, he’s emotionally exhausted. It’s a lot to process, but he has time. Jaskier promised to wait until he’s ready, so he can just go and take a nap and annoy Eskel with this tomorrow.

\---

It takes a few days, but Geralt starts to text him again. It’s a bit more distanced than they used to be, but it’s still obvious that they care about each other, even if they only exchange a message or two each day and stay away from anything deeper than small talk and catching up with each other’s more mundane every day life. It gives Jaskier hope and he clings onto it as hard as he can, though he forces himself not to rush to any conclusions again. Instead, he’s as patient as he can be, and a week later he’s rewarded with a message asking to talk.

‘Hey Jaskier, I think I had enough time to collect my thoughts and figure out what I want. Waiting any longer won’t do me any good, so whenever you’re free to talk, we should have A Talk’

It makes him both anxious and excited – he’ll finally get his resolve, but Geralt could have simply decided that Jaskier fucked up too badly and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. He doubts it, but it’s a possibility. But he’s an adult, and he can’t run away and have a breakdown every single time something stressful happens in his personal life, so he texts back after checking his calendar like a responsible adult.

‘Great, I’m back to my old teaching schedule now that we’re appropriately staffed again, so I actually have a bit of free time most evenings. I don’t want to drag this out any longer, does tomorrow work for you?’

Geralt replies shortly after, and they agree to meet at a restaurant neither of them has been to before as a neutral ground. 

Actually seeing the man the next day is awkward. They’ve been hugging each other as a greeting right from the start, but now that would feel inappropriate, so they just stand in front of each other for a second too long before sitting down. Neither of them seems to be particularly into the idea of starting this conversation, though Jaskier is dying to figure out where they’re at and how they’ll proceed. Instead, they make meaningless small talk until their drinks arrive. It’s terrible not because Jaskier doesn’t enjoy small talk – he could chat about nothing at all all day long and have the time of his life – but because waiting for the right moment to start the important things is agonizing.

Finally, a glass of apple juice in front of him (maybe Yennefer is starting to rub off on him after all this time), he decides to address the elephant in the room.

“I know I already apologized on the phone, but I wanted to tell you again that I’m sorry. I was stressed, but that’s not an excuse to just kiss you and run away. I’d like to explain myself, though honestly, I was just being an irrational idiot.”

Geralt looks at him with a softness in his eyes that he probably doesn’t deserve, but it calms him immensely. 

“Please indulge me, Jask. All of this feels like the drama from one of the terrible teen dramas Ciri made me watch with her last year, and I still like you, so…”, he trails off, seemingly not sure where he was going with this, but that’s okay, because Jaskier got the important bit. Geralt still likes him. He doesn’t seem angry, and he’s trying to put this behind them, too.

“Right. Uh. This is going to sound really stupid, but somehow Yennefer needed to come and tell me that I was being stupid, because somewhere along the way I got this idea stuck in my head that we’re not compatible in a relationship because we want different things from life. You know, without ever actually asking you what you’d want a relationship to be like, not even with me but in general. I don’t know, you just seemed like the type of guy who likes to settle down, to have a stable life with a reliable man, and maybe adopt a pet or a child or something somewhere along the way –“  
Jaskier is interrupted by Geralt actually laughing at him, though he looks like he at least tried to suppress it and seems a bit sorry for it.

“What?”, he asks, still slightly offended.

“Jaskier, I don’t know how to break it to you, but being an older brother is already more than enough responsibility for me. I will never, ever, in my entire life put a child through having me as their dad, and I certainly don’t want a pet anytime soon either.

Something in Jaskier’s brain breaks, and then he’s laughing too. How the fuck was he so stupid? He’s usually so good at social interactions, yet somehow, he’s fucked up the basics with Geralt. Once they’re both calmer again, he starts talking again.

“Okay, so I was even dumber than initially thought. Got it. What do you want from a relationship, then? If that’s… if that’s still something that could be relevant for us.”

“Hm. I don’t know what I want exactly, but someone who’s loyal. Not necessarily closed monogamous relationship loyal, just, someone I can trust. Honest communication, stuff like that.”

“That’s, like, the bare minimum for any relationship, Geralt.”

“Maybe. Just be glad that I’m low maintenance, then.”

“We need to work on your standards, no matter who you end up with. I hope you might end up with me, though, because I did enjoy the kiss, and I have been in love with you while telling myself that we’d never work for quite some time.”

“Funny you’d say that because I’ve been doing the exact same thing”; Geralt deadpans.

It’s then that Jaskier realizes that they’re both idiots, dancing a dance of dumbassery around each other for weeks and weeks on end for nothing. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Right. Okay. So we agree that we might want to do the dating thing, yes?”, he checks again, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“Okay. In that case, I have a few things you should know before dating me, I guess. Like that I travel a lot for competitions, and have a tendency to get terribly moody during that time while also not having time for anything or anyone.”

“So stressed you from the last few weeks, but with traveling thrown into the mix. Got it. I think I can manage that as long as you don’t expect me to travel with you everywhere. I might not love my job but I’d like to keep it anyway.”

“That’s fair. I also, uhh. I don’t really do closed relationships. It’s just not something that works for me long term.”

Geralt grunts and scratches his neck. Jaskier tries not to stare down too hard while also not giving Geralt an accidental death glare.

“I guess I can live with that, too, as long as you don’t bring any one night stands back home while I’m with you.”

“Why would I want anyone else when we’re spending time together? It’s more when I’m out alone, or traveling.”

“I think I can maybe live with that. We’ll see? We can take it slow, right? I haven’t actually dated anyone since Yen, and you can probably guess how well that went”, Geralt looks unsure, as if he’s the one asking for too much, when all he wants is some fucking time to process his feelings as they go. Jaskier wants to both shake him until he comes to his senses and spoil him rotten for being so sweet.

“We have all the time in the world, Geralt. Whatever pace feels right for you, we can make this work.” Jaskier smiles, and he means it, because he’s in love with Geralt, and it might take a while until he can actually say that out loud again, but there’s no rush now. Not when they can actually talk about things like this.

Geralt smiles back just as brightly.

“So, we’re dating?”, he asks, once more, and Jaskier laughs. 

“We’re dating.”, he confirms anyway, and then Geralt pulls him into their second ever kiss, which is a lot less heated but way more meaningful than their first one. It’s filled with possibilities for their future together.

\---

Geralt isn’t sure why it took them so long to figure out that they should date because now that they do things are really, really simple. They still train together, both on Sundays and during classes, only that more often than not, they end up at the same place at the end of a day. Sometimes, that means curling up in Geralt’s bed while watching movies together. Geralt finds out that Jaskier has a terrible taste in TV shows, but is really into actually good movies. It’s an odd contrast, but he enjoys just knowing these little things. Other times, like tonight, they’re at Jaskier’s house. It’s strangely domestic, doing chores together, eating together, simply sitting in the same room while reading different books – or, more often, Geralt is reading while Jaskier does his evening stretch routine.

Sometimes, Ciri is there, or Yennefer and Triss come over. On Thursdays, Jaskier accompanies him to their family dinners when he has the time.

They still take it slow, especially in public – only holding hands or kissing when he’s sure that no one is staring at them, if at all – but at home, Jaskier doesn’t hold back with his affection, brushing through his hair in the morning or massaging him in a bubble bath to relax after training all day. And while it’s odd to have someone care for him like this, he loves every second of it.

He’s not good with gestures like that himself, but he makes sure that Jaskier knows he’s just as loved, in his own way. He fixes small things around the house or gets groceries for the week on his way. He gives Jaskier the time and space he needs to be successful as a dancer because he’d rather not see the man for days on end than hold him back.

It’s peaceful for the most part, but not boring, and by the time competitive season truly starts, Geralt knows that he can – and will – cope with a month or two of extra stressed Jaskier every year for the rest of his life if it means getting ten months like this. They’ve got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done! there'll probably be a few one shots after this fic because i simply have so many more pole dance ideas for them, but i also have a million other ideas, so it might take a while. we'll see c:
> 
> meanwhile, you can always talk to me on [ Tumblr! ](https://www.emotionalumami.tumblr.com)


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